


Yuletide Neighbors

by Trish47



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Music, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prompt Fic, Tropes, minor angst followed by sweetness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-14 15:54:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16915839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trish47/pseuds/Trish47
Summary: A holiday postcard prompts Rey to finally meet her neighbor: Ben S.Things spiral quickly.





	1. Christmas Carols

**Author's Note:**

> I found this list of 25 December prompts on tumblr and they spoke to me, begging for Reylo Neighbors AU.  
> Here we go!
> 
> Note: this is not beta'd in any way and mostly written on the fly. It's not my most polished writing, but I've had a lot of fun with it thus far.

 

* * *

 

This is getting ridiculous. There are still twenty-five days until Christmas, though it seems none of the Strip District’s visitors are aware. In the near-nine months Rey’s been living in the Pittsburgh area, she’s learned the optimal time to sneak into her favorite market stands and grocery stores on the weekends to avoid crowds. Now, with the onset of the holidays, it seems those peaceful slots are lost to her as well.

The crush of the crowd has been particularly oppressive today, forcing Rey to retreat to her apartment building before gathering all of her weekly supplies. She’ll have to make due with what she has in her tiny pantry. At least she snagged the eggs and brown sugar she needs to bake some festive cookies to truly get into the spirit of the holidays. A quiet, relaxing activity is just what she needs after being bumped by harried parents rushing their children through the streets and nearly being hit by two different cars as they reversed.

Sighing, Rey walks through the decorated lobby and downstairs common rooms, stopping at her mailbox. She expects what she always finds: a whole lot of nothing. She’s lucky to get the weekly advert for the closest Giant Eagle and maybe a piece of mail intended for one of her neighbors. That’s what she thinks she pulls from the metallic slot when she sees a blue and white design with strokes of green and brown. Focusing, she realizes it’s an illustrated deer standing among pine branches. The design looks almost vintage.

Flipping the postcard over, she’s shocked to see her apartment number on the back, though it isn’t directly addressed to her. “What in the world?”

Glancing around the lobby as if to see if she’s the butt of some joke and a television host is going to pop out and tell her she’s on camera, Rey shifts her market bag to her other shoulder and clears her throat before looking at the card again. The handwriting is. . .magnificent. It’s a fancy script she supposes could be calligraphy. But who would go out of their way to write her a postcard in such gorgeous penmanship? Surely not Rose or Finn. She doubts it’s from the airport or from her more dubious employer -- Unkar isn’t the type to show his staff they mean anything to him more than what they contribute to his bottom line.

Unable to guess who it might be from, Rey decides it’s best to just read the thing and find out.

_Season’s greetings, neighbor._

_I’m under the impression you enjoy this holiday season given your late-night karaoke sessions. As it’s a busy time for me professionally, could you be so kind as to curtail such festive expressions at a more reasonable hour? I haven’t slept well since Thanksgiving because of your singing. It’s lovely, but distracting._

_Warmest wishes,  
Ben S._

_P.S. - You should consider adding “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch” to your repertoire. It’s a classic._

Rey blinks. Red heat creeps up her neck and reaches across her cheeks, keeping them rosy long after the winter air’s influence fades. Her neighbor has heard her singing. She knows the walls of the refurbished cork factory apartment are thin, but she didn’t think anyone would be able to hear her over a TV or music.

_God, what else has he heard?_ Rey thinks, mortified at the possibilities.

Clutching the small slip of cardboard, she trudges up to her apartment, tosses her groceries on the counter, and reads the postcard twice more, trying to decide if she should scream at being told -- albeit, politely -- to shut up, or if she should feel flattered. He’d written that she has a lovely voice. Maybe he was trying to be complimentary?

Rey thinks of the neighbor in question. She’s only seen him a handful of times. He’s tall -- mind-your-head tall -- with a mop of black hair and broad shoulders. They’ve never done more than nod at each other in passing. Now, she knows his name: Ben S.

“Well, Ben S., since I’m in the giving spirit. . .” Rey says, turning her home speaker on to full volume while searching for the song he suggested.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben drags his hand over his face and reaches for his third mug of coffee this morning. . .no, afternoon. It’s black and bitter -- just the way he likes it. As he brings it to his lips, a baritone voice echoes through the thin drywall separating his loft from the next one over. Soon, his neighbor’s voice joins in, listing metaphors and similes about Whoville’s resident Scrooge.

So, she must have received his card. Good. Maybe now he’ll be able to get to bed at a decent hour instead of wondering how a person could sing so many Christmas songs and not get tired of them, especially the diva ballads she seemed to so enjoy. At least she’s added what Ben considers the only tolerable holiday song to the list.

With a grin lifting one side of his face, he mutters the lyrics softly as he flips through his next report. “You’re a monster, Mr. Grinch.”


	2. Hot Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben share their first drink together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was more of a prologue than anything else. The rest of these chapters are all a bit (or a lot -- looking at you, chapter nine) longer. Hope you enjoy!

Sunday morning is bitterly cold -- the pull-the-comforter-up-to-your-nose cold that begs you to stay in bed until your bladder can't take another moment without bursting. When she finally convinces herself to get up, Rey pulls on a fleece robe and slips into a pair of her fluffiest socks, throwing her hair up into a messy bun as she moves toward her kitchen.

She stops at the microwave and stares at it for a solid ten seconds, then groans. It's not even six o'clock. Why does her body consistently undermine her every intention of sleeping in? All she wants is to turn around, dash back to her bedroom, and burrow beneath the covers again. Unfortunately, Rey has never been the type to fall back asleep once she's up.

Sighing, she decides to dedicate the extra time to something festive and fun. She removes butter and eggs from the refrigerator, rustles up the last of her flour and white sugar to add to its newly-purchased brown counterpart, and gathers together the rest of the ingredients to make her famous chocolate chip cookies. Well, 'famous' is a loose term. If Rose and Snap were the only ones who boasted about how delicious they were, did they truly earn the generous designation?

Throwing on an apron sporting grinning gingerbread people, she turns on her favorite Christmas playlist and gets to work.

After putting the first tray of rounded tablespoonfuls in the oven, Rey finds herself craving something sweet that isn't cookie dough. She wants something warm. Rummaging through her canister filled with various tea packets, she comes across something even better: Swiss Miss. 'Tis the season, right? It's not the healthiest beverage to have in the morning, but it's Sunday and it's cold. She can indulge a little.

While the kettle is warming, Rey switches the cookie trays, turning up the volume on the speaker when "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" streams through the device. She has yet to put up her tree, or buy one for that matter, so she has to imagine the evergreen that will sit in the corner of her apartment as she dances around.

Three loud knocks to her front door bring her dancing to a stuttering halt. _Oh, crap,_ she thinks. After yesterday's postcard, it can only be one person at her door: her curmudgeony neighbor, Ben S.. It's only approaching eight AM -- not exactly the most conscientious hour to bump up the volume on her holiday tunes.

Cringing at the awkward, embarrassing apology she's facing down, Rey hurries to the door. Sure enough, he's there in her peep hole, minimized by the lens, but still quite a presence. She takes a breath and opens the door with what she hopes is a sheepish smile.

He doesn't even let her get in an apology before he starts in with, "I thought I'd made myself clear in my note. It's December second. It's _Sunday_. It's--" His list cuts off abruptly, and he inhales curiously. "Are you baking? Now?"

Rey bristles. Did the man not have any idea what manners were? Couldn't they at least start with greetings or introductions? "Are you always this grumpy in the morning?"

His eyes flick across hers, jaw tightening before it relaxes. "I'm sorry," he starts, dropping his gaze to the threshold. "It's a busy time of year. I need every moment of sleep I can get."

He does seem genuinely apologetic to have snapped at her, so Rey lets it go. She's not exactly a rosy personality this early in the morning either.

"I'm sorry for having it up so loud," she admits. "At least I wasn't singing along?"

Something she thinks might be a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. "I don't mind the singing usually. I didn't lie: you have a lovely voice." He glances back up to her face. "I didn't realize you're British. The accent -- it doesn't carry when you sing."

Warmth blossoms on her cheeks at hearing his compliment reiterated in person. Generally speaking, Rey doesn’t sing in front of people. Learning she’s been providing free concerts to her neighbor is more than a little embarrassing, especially hearing he enjoys it.

Before she can say anything in response, the kettle whistles shrilly, demanding her attention. Biting her lip, she cocks her head inside while retreating to deal with the squealing vessel. "Come in?"

She shuffles over to the kitchen, removes the kettle from the burner, then panics when she realizes her cookie timer went off in the interim. She rescues the pan of deeply golden, not-yet burnt, cookies from the oven, immediately picking up a spatula to transfer them to the cooling rack. Rey is so deft at the skill that she only loses one in the process, dubbing it the "tester" and popping it into her mouth.

It takes her a moment to remember she's just invited a practical stranger into her apartment. They may be neighbors, but he still doesn't even know her name. She amends that first. "I'm Rey, by the way. You're Ben?"

He laughs. "Yeah. That's me. Ben Solo."

Rey hums as she reaches for a mug, hand hovering over another. "I was about to make some hot chocolate. Want some? Or tea?"

His eyes express dubiousness over the choices. "No coffee?"

She really is sheepish this time. "Not for this Brit."

"I'll have cocoa."

Rey beams and makes two mugs of the rich, sweet treat, sliding one to him when she's finished. "Oh!" she gasps, "I forgot marshmallows. Or do you like whipped cream?"

"Choices, choices," he gruffs as if it’s too early for such decisions. "Neither, thanks."

Rey puts her hands on her hips. "It's sacrilege to not have a topping!" 

Considering his physique -- a task that does not, in any way, help Rey's flushed cheeks or flustered demeanor -- Ben Solo is undoubtedly the type who watches what he consumes. He _fuels_ his body instead of abusing it like Rey does with her rudimentary college-level understanding of nutrition. The man has muscles on top of muscles. That much is clear even with the fancy pajama set he's wearing. Is that silk he's sporting? Rey's never seen actual silk pajamas, just polyester knockoffs.

"At least a sprinkling of cinnamon?" she pushes. "Spice things up a bit?"

Ben looks at her like she has two heads, but nods. Rey smiles and turns to the spice rack, tapping out the lightest dusting of cinnamon over his plain cocoa and her whipped cream. "There. Cookie to go with it?"

He chuckles again. "You're very tempting," he starts, then flushes red. "The cookie, I mean. The cookie is tempting."

Is he. . .actually blushing? He can't possibly have meant what he said, not when she's dressed in a fluffy green robe, a Christmas apron strapped around her waist, and her hair a mess. Rey's sure she has bags under her eyes to mirror his own, too. She shrugs the comment off as a slip of the tongue.

"I sense a polite refusal.”

Ben sighs. "The work I do. . .my superior expects a certain image."

Puzzling over his words while swiping another warm, gooey cookie from the pan -- even if he's concerned about his figure, she has little for her own -- Rey leans on the counter and chews thoughtfully. "Are you a model or something?"

The color on his cheeks deepens, and it seems that Rey isn't the only one who has a hard time accepting compliments. She wouldn't call him handsome in the traditional sense; he doesn't look like a blockbuster movie star, but his strong nose contrasts with the soft curve of his jaw in a pleasing way. Ruffled hair, dark as coal, halos his face in shadows.

"No," he returns. "No, not a model. I'm the director of public relations for a growing fitness center empire. I attend various events where I represent the company's brand."

"Ah, interesting." She finishes her cookie and takes a sip of her cocoa. "Well, any job that requires you to look a certain way is. . ." _Bullshit_. That's what she wants to say, but he's staring at her like she's grown a third eye on each of her two heads, so she trails off. "What?"

He blinks. "You--There's whipped cream right there." He taps his finger above his upper lip to indicate where she should wipe.

Rey does. "Did I get it?"

“You did," he answers, sipping his own without having to worry about a white mustache. "What do you do? Are you a baker?"

She waves off his assumption with a smile. "Just during the holidays." 

The truth is, it's therapeutic. Baking requires technique and careful measurements; it's not something you can wing. It requires patience. All things that Rey, until she settled in the States, lacked. Her childhood had been topsy-turvy, growing up with a series of family members and guardians, getting passed around for different reasons until a long-distance cousin nearly old enough to be her grandmother took her in. Qi'ra had given her a sense of stability as a teenager and made sure she spoke to a counselor -- the very same counselor who suggested she take up baking to learn control.

"I work at the airport," Rey continues.

"A flight attendant?" Ben assumes. Wrongly.

"A mechanic," she corrects, shoulders squaring to stick out her chest. She doesn't get the chance to tell many people about her job, but she prides in it nonetheless. "And I work part-time at a auto shop."

"Impressive." When he says it, it doesn't sound like he's being sarcastic or judgmental. His voice's deep timber sounds truly awed and Rey sings on the inside while pulling at strings dangling from the cuff of her oven mitt.

"Sunday is really the only day I have off." Rey isn't entirely sure why she thinks Ben needs to know this. It's not like they're working around one another's schedules for any reason. Yet, there it is, slipping from her mouth almost like an invitation to. . .what, exactly?

"Me too."

Rey's eyes stop fretting over the fraying oven mitt to meet Ben's eyes again. They're a warm brown that shift toward amber when he tilts his head to the light and become almost black when his hair falls across his face. They're gorgeous eyes. The perfect thing to match his gorgeous, over-full lips.

"Rey?"

Her name breaks through the daze of heady daydreams. It's been entirely too long since she dated someone. Her mind shouldn't be this hyper-aware of each beauty mark or freckle on his face; it shouldn't be predicting how well her thumb would fit into the wide bow of his upper lip. This is her neighbor, one she's only just become acquainted with, and that's all he's going to remain. _A neighbor._

To break her of her thoughts and cover her awkward staring, Rey lifts her mug and proposes a toast: "To Sundays off."

After a beat, Ben follows suit, raising his mug with one hand. With the other he plucks a cookie from the cooling rack, and adds on, "To Sundays off and homemade cookies."

Rey smiles, bumps his mug, and they both drink.


	3. Snowmen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey tries to get Ben in the spirit.

 

* * *

 

Monday’s early alarm blares on Ben’s nightstand the following morning. A brief, fleeting desire runs through his mind: he’d rather hear yesterday’s jovial holiday music knocking through the drywall. But no noise comes from Rey’s apartment.

Perhaps he should have anticipated, upon moving into a renovated cork factory, that sound-proofing between the units would be less than ideal. At least having an end unit means only having to put up with one neighbor -- a cute one who shares her cocoa and cookies with him. As long as ill-timed singing is the worst noise infraction Rey makes, he can’t complain much. Though, if he goes over to complain, it means he’ll be able to see her again. . .

Ben groans and rolls out of bed, planting his feet on the floor. He staggers to a stand; the tendons in his calves beg to be stretched, protesting as he plods through his apartment to the kitchen in search of coffee.

He’d told Rey Sundays are his days off, yet after they parted ways, Ben had gone for an eight-mile run. At the time, he convinced himself he needed to work off all the sugar, but that wasn't what drove him into the crisp morning air to exert himself. He needed time to process the morning’s pleasant beginnings.

Rey was. . .enchanting. Not in a fairy-tale way. She wasn't a princess; she certainly wasn't graceful or prim, wasn't schooled in hiding her expressions, and wasn't the type to worry about her hands getting dirty. After all, she was a mechanic. He'd seen her in the building lobby a few times, now that he's actively thinking about it, strolling in with grease-smeared coveralls. How her profession had escaped his attention, Ben couldn't fathom. He was usually much better about noticing details.

Details like the flecks of green in her soft hazel eyes. Or like the small scar she had under the one eye, level with her nostril, perhaps the result of some childhood accident. He'd noticed, too, how she scrunched her nose in both mirth and disagreement. Ben found the expression adorable, much like the rest of her.

Which is exactly why he’d needed to run her out of his system, push himself until all he could focus on was his breathing and his long gait. He didn’t need outside distractions. Snoke -- his demanding employer, leader of the First Order Fitness empire -- kept him busy enough, bouncing from one event to another in the city and beyond. Ben had to keep tight control of his focus through the end of the year. So he'd run. It hadn’t been easy to edge Rey’s memory out, and by the time he'd looped the trail and made it back to his apartment, he'd shaved a full ten seconds off his best time.

After a quick shower, Ben pulled out his laptop and got to work on files he needed for his upcoming meeting. Snoke didn't care if he, technically, had Sundays off. _When you're salaried, I expect you at my beck and call._ That had been the deal Ben had made for a more-than-generous salary and ample benefits. Sometimes, though, it didn't seem worth it.

Now, fresh from slumber, he pulls out his laptop again, getting to work before he’s fully awake. If he doesn't get his plan in before Wednesday, highlighting how to curtail the February gym slump once the customer base forgets or gives up on their New Year's Resolutions, Snoke will have his ass.

At lunch he decides to stretch his legs and grab a coffee from La Prima. As soon as he's shrugged into his floor-length woolen trench coat, Ben opens the door and nearly stumbles over the obstruction waiting for him across the threshold. "Son of a--" he swears as he rights himself.

Looking down at the offending object, he sees plush white snowmen, one wearing a tiny knitted cap and the other decked in a Santa hat. The larger snowman -- or woman, rather -- sports a cheery red apron, holding up a plate of cookies. There's a rather oddly placed shaggy dog that looks like it’s humping the poor baker instead of hugging her.

He picks up the toy. A note flutters to the floor, presumably having been stuck to the bottom. Ben retrieves it and reads the words scrawled on the yellow paper: "For your entertainment while I’m at work. ;) "

Simultaneously smiling and rolling his eyes, Ben feels around the base of the toy, knowing there has to be some sort of animated song and dance to go along with the snowmen; he can feel the battery chamber underneath his fingers. A few presses later, he finds what he's looking for and the pair launch into a terribly rewritten, mechanical rendition of "Deck the Halls."

Groaning, Ben retreats into his apartment, placing the bobbing musical figures on his kitchen counter. Without thinking anything of it, he quickly pulls out his phone; they’d exchanged numbers yesterday, in case of emergencies. While this isn’t an emergency, Ben thinks it warrants acknowledgement.

 

_I prefer your singing to this._

 

It doesn't stop him from playing the thing twelve more times throughout the day, thinking of Rey’s delighted, nose-scrunched smile every time he presses the button.

 

* * *

 

It isn't until she's on her commute to Unkar's shop that Rey gets the alert she has a message. Mondays are rough by nature, but hers is more awful than most, or so Rey thinks.

On the first day of the week, she works both jobs; that, in itself, isn't too bad. What makes it less than pleasant is having to fix all the errors or catch up for her team’s lapsed work over her off days at the airport. Rey swears there is only one other mechanic who is worth anything at all: Rose Tico. Her colleague and friend can fly though work orders like nobody's business, and she's not afraid to boss around the other techs until the job is done correctly. Unlike Rose, Rey would rather keep to herself and fix things without a fuss.

Maybe she needs to start being more vocal; it couldn’t hurt, since she’s gunning for a promotion that would make her an overseer. And, at the end of the day, if the work isn't done accurately or completely, it falls on Rey’s head to make it happen. In other words: Mondays suck.

It's a bright spot to see Ben's text. She wasn't sure she’d hear from him, if she's honest. They'd exchanged numbers, but he'd only mentioned something about wanting to do so in case there was an emergency. Maybe it had been a ploy to get her phone number covertly? Rey muses over the thought. She'd have given it to Ben willingly, and that makes her pause as she buckles her seat-belt.

Was she acting too desperate? For goodness' sake, she'd left him a little gift outside his door a day after meeting him. It wasn't anything much, just an old Hallmark greeting toy she'd found at the thrift shop down the Strip. She'd thought it was funny, especially after their exchange over hot cocoa. Would he read too much into it? Did she want him to?

Sighing, Rey types out a quick reply:

 

_My performances have been canceled for the day. Swamped at work._

_:(_

 

The single line reply comes before she puts the car in reverse. There’s no text, just the emoji. A man of few words in the digital format, perhaps?

Driving up 279 to the North Hills, Rey parks her car at Unkar's shop, clocks in, avoids actually seeing her boss, and rolls under a truck as soon as possible. The less interaction she has with Unkar, the better. He's unpleasant at the best of times, but on Mondays during the holiday season, he's at his grumpiest. The obese, bald man whose unwashed stench announces him before his feet come into view, loathes the holidays. He thinks it makes people expect too much -- namely discounts, something Unkar has never offered at his auto shop.

"These people think I'm going to find it in my heart to give them a break just because it's 'the season of giving.' The same holds true now as it does the rest of the year: no money, no service!"

He'd been rattling off similar tirades since the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. It’s bound to get worse before the year is out.

At the end of her shift, Rey is filthy, bone-weary, and barely able to make out the lines on the road as she drives home through slushy rain. It makes the roads slick, but she doesn't slide too much. Living in Pittsburgh, she's gotten used to driving in poor weather conditions as a matter of survival. If she doesn't get to work, she doesn't get paid. She pulls into her building's parking garage, then drags herself to her door.

It's too much hassle to cook anything this late at night, so Rey grabs a couple of chocolate chip cookies and heads straight for bed, holding the sorry excuse for dinner between her teeth as she strips out of her work clothes. When she collapses onto her pillow, she pulls out her phone to set an an extra-early alarm for the morning so she can shower away the grime of the day and change her sheets. She always waits for Mondays to turn the corner before doing laundry.

There's another message from Ben waiting for her. A slow smile creeps across her face as she stares at it. It's a picture of her gifted snowmen sitting on what looks like a computer desk.

 

_It glitched at dinner and wouldn't stop that infernal noise. No more batteries. Still looks festive. Thanks._

 

She doesn't have the energy for a witty comeback. Just a smiley face juxtaposed with a sleepy face.

 

_Goodnight._

 

She doesn't stay awake long enough to see his response in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to add another chapter later tonight. Thank you for the love / kudos / comments!


	4. Snow Globe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunate-looking gifts and blush-worthy touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A touch of angst regarding Rey's parents at the start of this chapter. Overall, though, I'm trying to keep this upbeat and fluffy! Enjoy!

* * *

 

Rey thinks as soon as they’re dry, she's going to slap her sheets back on her bed and fall right on top of them, breathing in their freshly laundered scent. She'd finished up early at Unkar's tonight; when there are no cars to service, she can leave. In fact, Unkar demands she go, unwilling to pay her for sitting around to “twiddle her thumbs,” as he puts it.

It's about as nice as Unkar ever is, and Rey will take the loss to her pay if it means not having to sit around the shop with him. If he didn't pay her so well for her work -- work she suspects involves servicing stolen cars half the time -- Rey would have left long ago.

She's already in her pajamas -- a ratty t-shirt from when she was a kid and yoga pants. The shirt is the only thing she has left of home, really. Home in the general, London, sense. It was a gift from one of her aunts, the first thing she latched onto after her parents died in a drunk driving accident they instigated. Riding in the backseat, Rey was lucky to have made it out of the car alive, her only injury a small scratch from a piece of glass that nicked her cheek. At the time she was given the shirt, it had come down past her knees. Now, it was more like a crop top, the hem filled with holes she never learned to sew shut. Still, she’d wear it and her black yoga pants twenty-four hours a day if she could get away with it.

Naturally, it's in this state of grungy dress when there's a knock on her door. The building doesn't allow solicitors -- even food delivery drivers have to be met downstairs in the lobby. Rose, Rey knows, has plans with Finn this evening, so that narrows her list of possible visitors down to exactly one.

This time she doesn't bother with the peephole, using the extra moment to smooth her flyway hairs into submission beneath the thin black band holding her messy bun in place.

"Ben," she greets, eyeing the reflective green gift-bag dangling at the end of his long fingers dubiously. "You're not re-gifting my singing snowmen back to me, are you?"

He shakes his head, smiling. "No. Those will grace my worktop for the entire season, I promise."

She doesn't know why that makes her go all bubbly inside; it was such a stupid, silly gift in the first place. She wouldn't have blamed him for chucking it right into the garbage bin.

Twisting the doorknob back and forth, she watches as he leans forward, eyes moving beyond her as if scanning the room. Is he seriously looking for someone? He thinks she has friends or a partner over looking like this? Not that she believes in getting all spiffed up for company, but she could do better than her security-blanket masquerading as a shirt.

"There's nobody here.”

Ben immediately sways back on his heels, having the decency to look embarrassed at being so obvious about his actions. "I didn't want to intrude."

"Nothing to intrude on," Rey confirms, fingers digging at her scalp and casually pulling the band from her hair, letting it fall to her shoulders. It looks nothing, she's sure, like the shampoo commercials where the models' hair tumbles in shining, cascading waves down their backs. But Ben's hair -- black, wavy, and altogether lustrous -- puts her own mop of brown to shame. She couldn't keep it in a bun.

He doesn’t seem to notice the change. "Oh."

"I'm not seeing anyone," Rey blurts out. And she could kick herself for it. Why on earth would she admit to that out loud? Hadn't she ever heard of playing the game? If he knew she was available, wouldn't it just push him away?

Apparently not. "I'm likewise unattached."

Blinking in the wake of the blatant admission, Rey doesn't know how to proceed. First of all, how has this man not been swept up and away by someone else? He may not be conventionally handsome, but she senses there's nothing but pure muscle beneath his sweater. Sure, he’s a little awkward, but he seems funny and kind and thoughtful and. . .

She needs to cut off the list of adjectives before she gets too carried away. There’s no need for her to work down a list of his supposed merits. They're neighbors, and it is going to stay that way.

Scrambling for something to say, her eyes are drawn to the bag in his hand. "Is that for me?"

_Who else would it be for, dummy?_ she chides herself as he lifts it into better view, holding it out for her to take.

He passes it off with a disclaimer. "It's nothing grand. Certainly not as lively as your dancing snowmen. Just something I saw while walking downtown. Made me think of you."

The weight of the bag is more substantial than Rey expects, almost making her drop it straight to the floor. She clutches her fingers around the strings at the same moment Ben's clamp down to ensure it doesn't plummet to the ground. Their fingers brush against each other, and Rey is left feeling like she's stuck hers in an outlet. The slightest touch has her heart racing and her hand tingling. She barely holds back a gasp.

"It's. . .heavy," she finishes, recovering slightly as she pulls the bag away and combs through the crumpled tissue paper. Ben may have the neatest handwriting she's ever seen, but wrapping gifts doesn't appear to be his forte. At least the man has one weakness. "What is it?"

 

* * *

 

His hand -- the one she touched for the briefest moment -- flexes at his side, curling in and unfurling several times, attempting to shake his reaction. It hardly counted as physical contact. Why, then, is his heart beating so furiously?

"Go ahead: open it," he suggests. "I'm not the Christmas police. I'm not here to tell you you have to wait until the twenty-fifth."

The smile that breaks across her face makes him melt. It's wide and warm, inviting him inside the apartment as she retreats to her kitchen island to open the gift.

"You really didn't have to get me anything," she says, unstuffing the tissue paper and throwing it willy-nilly on the counter. “The Hallmark thing was just a joke."

For some reason, it strikes him that, perhaps, she hasn't been on the receiving end of many gifts before. The thought stems partly from her words and partly from her childlike reaction to being told to open it right away. Either she had little sense of delayed gratification, or she's blown away by the idea someone went out of his way to get her something. The latter thought makes him angry on her behalf. She's too quick at extracting and opening the box for him to make any comment.

"Oh, Ben. It's--" she begins, wiggling it free of its Styrofoam bedding. "It's--"

He chuckles over her stuttering as she tries to find the right words. "The tackiest souvenir you've ever had the displeasure of holding?"

The snow globe is worse than any last-minute souvenir you could pick up at an airport terminal. It isn't even something you'd find at the kiosks exploding with colorful banners and displays on the streets of popular tourist destinations. No, this is more in line with what could be found at a dollar store, though it’s large enough to need two hands to hold it.

"It's something else," Rey remarks. Her grin looks like it's caging a laugh trying to get loose.

The base of snow globe hosts various iconic London figures: a red phone booth, a double-decker bus, a member of the Queen's guard in full regalia. The top is egg-shaped rather than a proper dome. Inside, instead of London Bridge, the pine cone-shaped Gherkin Building, or the Eye, the ovi-globe holds only a hastily painted clock tower that seems to be leaning to the left.

"They've made it look like a cock." Rey's giggle finally slips out. "It's awful."

_Did she just say ‘cock’?_   His head spins.

"It's not the finest rendering of Big Ben, but," he stammers, losing his train of thought halfway through because, shit, she looks adorable when she's smiling like that. It goads him into agreement. "Yeah, okay. It _is_ unnecessarily phallic in shape."

"I love it." Rey snuggles the glass egg next to her cheek like it's a puppy. On its way toward the countertop, she flips it over and sends flecks of glitter dancing merrily through the water. As cheap as it is, the effect is still mesmerizing.

She puts the globe down and reaches out for him. He thinks she might have been aiming for his shoulder, or maybe she was going to give him a pat on the back, but her hand lands on and lightly squeezes his bicep. "You've gotta be kidding me." It's mumbled like an expletive, warming Ben through as if he's standing in front of a fireplace.

"It's a perk of the job," he remarks, the heat he feels climbing up to his cheeks. He's unused to being admired, especially so openly.

Rey smiles, sliding her hand over the rise of his muscle twice before she whips it away and flushes red. "I wish my job would give me guns like those."

Ben shakes his head. He suspects Rey doesn't mean she wants a copy of his exact musculature, but he understands the sentiment. Only, she doesn't need to wish for it. She already possesses it. Tentatively, his fingers dust at the hem of her t-shirt sleeve. "Rey, you're halfway there as it is." He hopes his tone is just as full of appreciation as hers was.

Underneath the fluffy robe from her weekend baking session, he hadn't been able to make out much of her body type, other than he knew she was tall and slim. Now, squeezed into a shirt that rides above her belly button and pocked with holes wider than his finger, Ben can see she has a flat stomach, small breasts, and strong arms. The yoga pants don't hide much either.

"I could teach you a few exercises, if you want to tone them more," he offers.

Rey locks eyes with him. "I've never had any formal training. It's just from lifting things at work. It's a tempting offer."

"Let me tempt you."

She huffs out a laugh, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not giving up my sweet indulgences."

Ben rolls his eyes in good humor. "Did I say anything about giving up the cookies?"

Though she doesn't move or change her expression, he gets the impression that she's sticking her tongue out at him like a child. But then she relaxes, picks up the snow globe, and puts it above her sink, teetering on the windowsill that looks out over the Allegheny River. The water isn’t quite solid at this point, but there's ice beginning to form near the edges where the currents are slowest.

"Can we start tomorrow?" she asks. "If I get off early?"

Surprised at her immediate agreement, Ben nods. "I'll text you the details."


	5. Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Ben work out, then walk it out.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Wednesday is beyond busy at Unkar's shop, and Rey ends up staying there until almost eight o'clock. Around seven, she sneaks off a text to Ben while another tech changes the cars in the garage bay.

 

_Three cars to go. Not sure I can make it tonight. Sorry._

 

Rey doesn’t want Ben to think she's blowing him off. Genuinely, Rey wants to learn a few techniques; being stronger for work can only be an asset in her mind. All her life, she's felt the need to fight. Multiple lunchroom tussles during her high school years had brought Qi'ra to the principal’s office. Rey’s sensitivity to others taking her food was an easy button for bullies to push, though she never let them get away unscathed. She was better about it now, but sharing food fought against every instinct she possessed. Baking was truly the only time she was okay with giving food away.

Ben's response chimes in as she's dragging herself to her car.

 

_If you're up for it, I'm still at the gym._

 

Rey groans. She wants to decline, tell him they can try again tomorrow. It's already late. But, really, how long can it take to show her some arm exercises? And her gym bag is in her car, ready to go. Sighing, she texts back to tell him she's on her way.

The address she plugs into her GPS leads her to a street in the city with nary another car parked on either side. Rey's red flags go up. Did she put in the correct location? Had her GPS steered her wrong? There's a gym in front of her, its floor to ceiling glass panes proudly displaying state-of-the-art exercise equipment, but there doesn’t appear to be a soul inside.

Feeling uneasy, Rey exits her car and walks up to the window, shielding her eyes between her hands to peer inside, aiming to see into the dim corners. Nothing.

In a panic, Rey thinks she must have gotten there too late. If she pulls out her phone, she's sure she’ll find a text telling her as much. Retreating several steps, Rey is startled by a series of loud knocks on the glass coming from the other end of the building; she almost drops her phone.

Rey watches as Ben jogs to the main entrance. He's wearing dark athletic pants and an Under Armour shirt that covers everything up to his Adam's apple. He opens the door with a short breath; he's not winded by any means, but rather breathless with excitement if the way he's practically bouncing in his trainers is any indication.

"You’re here!" he greets. "Sorry, I was doing some paperwork in the back."

Rey adjusts her gym bag on her shoulder, not quite capable of meeting his eyes. "Sorry I'm so late. Are you sure we should still do this?"

"Absolutely. I'll show you the forms on a couple exercises you can do at home."

"I don't have any equipment," she tells him.

The excuse rolls off his back like rain on a waxed car. "I have some weights you can borrow and a resistance band you can have."

He bypasses all the fancy machines and heads toward the free-weights. Rey feels a trickle of intimidation run down her spine, but she bites her lip and follows him. "Ben?" she asks as he starts to move things around. "Is there somewhere I can change?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, straightening up and running his hand over his hair. "There's a women's locker room just over there. The lights are motion sensitive."

She smiles. "Be right back."

The gym is sleek and well-maintained. Everything is impeccably clean and free of clutter or dust. In front of the glossy metallic lockers, Rey changes quickly into a tank top and her trusty yoga pants. She already wears sports bras to work -- doesn't even own a bra that has a wire in it -- so there's no need for a switch-out. She figures she'll go home in what she's wearing, so she stuffs her work clothes into her bag and exits the locker room to return to Ben.

"What's up first?"

He looks up from a set up dumbbells and points at a resistance band strapped around a shoulder press machine's bar. "This is the easiest thing you can do at home for improved strength. We'll get in tricep extensions and bicep curls too. Maybe add in a weighted plank."

Rey's brows knit together while he lists everything. Most of it she's heard of before -- or done in a gym class at least once in her twelve years of public education -- but it sounds like a lot. "I thought we were sampling these exercises," she says. "That sounds like a total workout."

"If you're not a little sore tomorrow, what's the point of doing it at all, right?" he asks as his hands steer her into position. Rey swears there's a wink at the end of his sentence, but with only the emergency lights on in the main gym, it's hard to say. Her heart stutters as she thinks to what else the phrase could be applied.

They go through the resistance band exercises fairly quickly. Once, Rey had to have physical therapy after a particularly hard fall dislocated her shoulder while playing Powder Puff football. As a result, she's familiar with the motions, and Ben only has to correct her on a few minor details.

The weighted plank -- which combines bicep curls and the strenuous position -- is the true challenge. With her shoulders aligned over her wrists, legs extended out in full, Rey props on her toes. There are five pound dumbbells beneath each of her hands. A bead of sweat trickles along her hairline and they haven’t even begun. He joked about being sore tomorrow; Rey is pretty sure she already is.

"Okay," Ben claps his hands and takes up the same position with larger dumbbells right in front of her, leaving about a foot of space between them. For each exercise, he's given her a demonstration. "Now, engage your core and lift the right weight in toward your chin." He follows his own instructions, then lowers the dumbbell back to the starting position. "Then alternate."

Rey directs a sharp breath of air at the escaped hair hanging in front of her eyes. "You make that look deceptively easy," she grumbles, attempting to match his form. Her first lift has her wobbling in place, bicep protesting. "Shit."

Ben has already completed a set of twenty -- ten reps for each arm -- and hops his feet forward to curl under his body. "You can do it," he encourages, reaching forward to tuck the errant strand still dangling in her face behind her ear. "One set. Then we'll go."

"That there," Rey huffs, lifting her left arm now, "is motivation."

He peers around to watch her from the side as she does another repetition. "Careful. You're downward dogging."

"What?"

"Keep your butt down," he instructs. "You're a plank, not a triangle."

Rey attempts to keep the thought that he's watching her ass out of her head. It’s only to ensure she does the move properly. That's all. Ben has been nothing but professional while they've worked through the exercises. She lowers her backside toward the ground, feeling the pull of it in her abdomen. Her arms tremble with the effort to hold her upright, and she forgets for a moment that she's also trying to lift weights.

"No," Ben chides gently, but firmly. "Lower. Engage your core."

Rey grumbles in response. "What does that even mean?"

"Tighten your abdominals. Here." Moving to her side and crouching again, Ben slides his hand under her body and holds it to her stomach. Things do tighten, but the clenching doesn't stop at her waistline.

Rey’s teeth latch onto her bottom lip to hold back a gasp. _So much for professionalism._

"Rey?"

"Hmm?" she hums, not trusting herself with words.

"Plank, not triangle," he reminds her. "Don't angle away from my hand, press into it. Straighten your back. Lower your-- Can I help you?"

At this point, she's going to need manual readjustment because whatever he's saying isn't reaching her brain's processing center. It's blocked up with a rush of sensory information flooding in from where he's touching her. His hand is wide and warm and strong. It stretches almost the entire expanse of her stomach, reaching from hip bone to hip bone. He has huge hands. Massive, massive hands.

"Oh," she supplies, unhelpfully. "Yeah. Sure."

"You okay?"

Rey nods, but it makes her arms ache and quiver with effort. She decides to be honest: "I can't hold this position much longer. My arms are shaking."

He doesn't make fun of her or tell her she hasn't quite managed to get in the proper plank position. Instead, he nods in return and says, "Okay. We'll cut the reps to five, and you've already done two. Three more to go, but I want you to do them accurately. Butt down."

She whines a little. "My arse has loftier goals."

"I'm going to pin it down for these bicep curls," he laughs, though it almost sounds like a warning. Just then, Rey feels warm pressure at her lower back, right on the curve where her tailbone ends. His fingers fan out slightly on the rise of her ass, but Rey can’t say it’s intentional. Holding one hand on her abdomen and one on her back, he persuades her into the desired position.

She thinks he'll remove his hands, but she's wrong. He keeps them where they are -- sandwiching her body between them -- until Rey lifts the left dumbbell, then the right. "Good,” he praises. “Two more."

Anchored now, she completes the exercise. When she's done, her knees collapse onto the matted floor, hands tingling from holding her up so long. "That was hard."

 

* * *

 

Ben looks at her assessingly, smiling as he offers out a hand and helps her stand. Blotches of red are sponged over her cheeks and neck. Wisps of hair fly around her face, unwilling to be tamed even after Rey attempts to smooth them. Her eyes are tired, but her body language tells a different story. With her shoulders back and her head high, she looks like she feels accomplished, as she should.

"You did well," Ben reiterates. "I'll get you a water while you change."

Rey blots her forehead with the neckline of her tank top. "No need. I'm just going to go home and shower."

A steamy room pops to mind, though he only sees a hint of wet skin before he closes out the fantasy. He shouldn't visualize his neighbor in such a state, not when he'd offered to help her. Ben doesn't want Rey to think he's in this for ulterior motives.

"Ah. I see," he says. "Of course."

Rey pauses in gathering up her bag and jacket. "Did you have another idea?"

_Did he have another idea?_ Well, sure. But his plans had changed when Rey texted him about being late. Still, he doesn't want to squander the opportunity if Rey sounds up for something more.

He rolls with it. "We could stretch our legs. Go for a short walk?"

Rey's eyes flit from him to the road outside where the few street-lights cast yellow circles on the sidewalk. "Is it safe?"

It's never occurred to him to be wary of walking at night, and the reminder that not everyone has that luxury feeds a spike of anger into his veins. The thought of anyone going after Rey in the shadows. . .he shakes himself loose of the thought. He's here, and nothing is going to happen.

"It looks rough, but it's a decent neighborhood," he assures her. "We don't have to go far."

"Okay," she agrees, sliding her arms into a gray pea-coat that appears more than a little worn, like she's had it for years. She sets everything else down by the door as they go.

A blast of cold air hits them on the other side of the glass. To Ben, it feels wonderful. His skin isn't as heated as hers from their workout, but it refreshes him nonetheless. Ben locks the gym door, then stuffs his bare hands in his pockets to keep them warm. "Shall we?"

As they fall into step, Rey continues her earlier apology. "Sorry again. My second boss, Unkar -- he's a real git. Would work me to the bone if I let him."

She sounds miffed, though her words fall more in line with observations than rants. Ben can't help his curiosity. "Why tolerate that treatment? Couldn't you find something else?"

If she knew his own working situation, she'd be right to call him a hypocrite. Snoke, he's certain, has to be worse than Unkar, especially during the pre-resolution season. He hadn't been lounging around waiting for Rey to show up at the gym; he'd been hours deep in a marketing strategy Armitage had composed. He'll have to finish reading it once he gets home.

Rey doesn’t need a moment to think before she responds. "The pay. Can't beat it. It's all under the table." She cocks her head up at him, the air in front of her lips clouding. "Please don't report me to the IRS?"

He chuckles. "I wouldn't want them dragging away my favorite neighbor."

She grins. "Favorite neighbor, hmm?"

He returns her smile. “You’re not bad,” he says. “Minus the singing, of course.”

The teasing earns him a punch to the shoulder and an indignant “Hey!” that devolves into a giggle, then a groan. Rey rubs her arm, remarking, “I’m not going to be able to lift anything tomorrow.”

They stride on, making it several blocks and falling into companionable silence. Patches of ice from puddled water crowd into the corners of the uneven sidewalks and pool in the dips, forcing them to mind their steps. The initial pleasant chill in the air has become biting, especially now that the wind has picked up.

"One more block?" Rey questions. "I'm starting to fade."

"Sure thing," he says, wondering how they’ve made it so far in the first place. It was supposed to be a short walk.

Rey withdraws her hands from her pockets and blows into them. Her head turns toward one of the shop windows along their route, and Ben's eyes follow hers. They alight on a storefront decorated for the holidays. This display has two rocking chairs in front of a fireplace, both occupied by over-large stuffed bears wielding knitting needles and yarn. In the fireplace, orange paper flames blow wildly via some machine offering up a welcoming glow to the cutesy scene.

"Wish I had one of those right now," Rey says.

"A bear?"

She hums, amused. "No. The fireplace. But a real one. With real fire."

Her shoulders scrunch up toward her ears in a visible shiver. Guilt pricks at him. She's barely wearing anything under that coat, nothing that offers any kind of insulation anyway.

Ben isn't in a much better clothing situation, but he doesn't want Rey catching a cold because he asked her to indulge him in a walk after working her so hard in the gym. He fears she'll never come back for another workout if she gets sick now.

The buttons on his coat are large enough for even his cold fingers to manipulate open. He shrugs out of the coat and whirls it around like a cape, settling the bulky fabric on top of her shoulders.

"Ben--" Rey starts, a pout on her lips.

"It's only a few blocks." He waves his hands in front of his chest, palms out as if to say he won't accept any protest. "I won't freeze. I run like a furnace."

Rey's hands clutch at the extra layer and tug it more firmly in place. It doesn't quite button -- Ben likes a slim-fit for when he performs his public relations duties -- but it mostly encases her. "Thanks."

It takes every bit of pride and determination he has not to immediately tuck his hands underneath his armpits or cross them over his chest to ward off the cold. He'll warm up in his car as soon as he walks Rey to hers.

Mercifully, Rey hurries her pace on the return trip. They don't talk, focusing on their destination and avoiding sheets of ice which would send them sprawling on the sidewalk. Once they reach the gym, Ben collects her things and meets Rey at her car. He passes off her bag, unsure what to say in parting.

"Are we doing this again tomorrow?" Rey asks, wrapping things up for him.

An eyebrow raises. "Bold of you to think you'll be able to move that much. Maybe I should have made you do those other five repetitions."

Rey shoves at his chest, winces slightly, and unwraps his coat from around her shoulders, handing it back to him.

"I bounce back quicker than you imagine," Rey returns, holding her hands in front of the vent in the hopes of warming them.

His eyes narrow. “Duly noted.” An idea he’d toyed with earlier while he waited for her springs to the forefront of his thoughts. “Actually. . ."

Every December, he’s forced to attend at least one of his mother’s events, with the understanding he'll pose for the requisite family photographs journalists request following Mayor Organa-Solo’s speaking engagement. This year, it’s a dedication ceremony at Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Garden. He'd contemplated asking Rey to accompany him. Perhaps she could help stave off the inevitable questions about his personal life. But how did one ask his neighbor to be a fake plus one to a public event?

"'Actually,' what?" Her voice is piqued with interest.

Ben supposes it’s best to just ask. "There's a ceremony for the city at Phipps tomorrow evening. I have tickets. Would you like to come? I can bring anyone I want. . .which is not to say I don’t want you. What I mean is--"

"Yes." It’s an answer without embellishment, but the way she’s grinning makes his heart seize.

For whatever reason, he tries to give her an out. “What about work?”

Rey shakes her head, swinging her legs into the car and putting her hands on the steering wheel. “Unkar owes me for tonight. I’ll be off by five.”

Okay, so this is happening. “I’ll meet you at the Welcome Center at six?”

“It’s a date,” Rey returns, reaching for the handle and closing the door. Through the window, she winks at him.


	6. Family Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey attend a city event at a botanical garden.  
> AKA - the fake girlfriend chapter.

 

* * *

 

In the midst of meeting with her constituents and supporters, his mother finds time to sidle over to Ben and rope her arm through his, gently stealing him away from a group of Carnegie Mellon biological science majors talking him to death about poinsettias. Their faces fall as he goes, but Ben's lips tick up in relief.

"Thank you," he whispers, patting her hand while inching up his jacket sleeve to see his watch, then swipes across the small squared screen to see if he missed any messages. None from Rey, not even a preemptive "Sorry, I can't make it tonight" like she sent yesterday. He swallows down the hurt he feels, trying his best to focus on something else. "Where's Dad?"

Leia's eyes light with mischief. "Oh, you know your father. Carousing with his old pilot buddies at the bar."

Ben shakes his head as they stop in front of a faux-waterfall created with strings of blue and white lights. They cascade into a reflecting pool where koi swim underneath brilliant green lily pads holding small illuminated presents. Ben checks his watch again, wondering if he should call her. What if she's stuck on the side of a road somewhere? What if something bad has happened? Though they've only known each other less than a week, Ben feels Rey wouldn't stand him up on purpose.

"Ben," his mother says gently. "Relax. I'm the one giving the speech tonight. Speaking of which, I suppose I should find my way to the podium."

Ben starts to turn, thinking to lead her there, but a firm hand on his elbow stops him. Leia takes her hand from his arm and says, "You stay here. She'll come."

His eyes flash to hers. How did she know? He hadn't mentioned Rey’s attendance in the very event of this scenario happening -- Rey failing to show up at the last moment. He's not an idyllic idiot. It had been a spur of the moment invitation, and though Rey had sounded confident she would get off work early, he imagines she might have gotten stuck at Unkar's shop.

"I'm worried," he says shortly. It's the best word to sum up the million directions his mind is going in.

"I can see that, dear heart." His mother reaches up, hand resting on the side of his head as he dutifully bends, closing his eyes as she uses a quick kiss to ease the creases from his forehead. "Have some faith."

Parting from him with a squeeze to his shoulder, Leia disappears among the throng of attendees. The dedication will start soon, with an interview to follow; Ben and his parents have already posed for the photographers. The ceremony follows the same routine every year with the only difference being the name listed in the dedication.

With time ticking down, Ben pushes his way back into the Welcome Center, fighting against a stream of late arrivals. He stands taller than most, allowing him to peer over the up-dos and hair pieces around him, looking for Rey. He stares intensely, unsure what she might look like when she's not in her workout clothes or pajamas. Inwardly, he cringes, realizing he didn't tell her anything about the nature of this ceremony. She'll look out of place if she comes in her work clothes, not that Ben will mind. It will just draw more attention, something he'd rather avoid.

"Ben!"

His father's voice catches his attention from the conservatory's cafe-turned-bar. They're serving up champagne and cocktails named after the flowers and Christmas trees on display. There's plenty of gin and grenadine and pomegranates to go around.

Han Solo lounges against the counter, his ever-present smirk widening as the crowd around him parts and gives a straight view to his son. Ben advances, smiling tightly. His father has never taken his mother's speaking engagements seriously; it's something Ben has trouble understanding, especially since he's followed in her footsteps in a way, going into a field that makes public appearances crucial to his employer's success.

"Come say hello to your Uncle Lando." Han waves him on as if Ben isn't walking fast enough.

Ben groans. He's nearing thirty, yet his father still treats him like a child. Ben strides up and nods to a man he hasn't seen for roughly half his life -- an old co-pilot of his father's who used to spend a good deal of time drinking and playing cards in his parents’ den. "Hello."

"Hey there, kiddo," Lando says, infantalizing him even more. At least he has the decency to correct himself. "Well, not so much a kid anymore, I suppose. Look at how much you've grown! And so handsome. Bet you have all the ladies running."

"Ha!" Han returns, pivoting in place to pick up another red-tinted cocktail. "More like running away, am I right, kid?"

Ben's hands begin to curl into fists when something warm and smooth slides into the right one. It startles him, but the strange hand squeezes his reassuringly. "The only way I'm running, is _late_." Rey's voice is apologetic. Ben barely has the time to tilt his face down to meet her eyes when he feels her tug down on his hand, press her body flush against his arm to leverage herself up, and plant a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry about that."

Every cell in his body ignites at the unexpected greeting. Rey must have heard his father’s teasing as she approached and played against his remark on purpose. He appreciates the sentiment more than he'd ever be able to express; however, the suddenness of it all takes him by storm. Ben doesn't know what to say or do next. His mouth just hangs open, staring down at her. There's glitter shimmering around her eyes, reflecting the lights twinkling in the atrium. He almost gasps at how beautiful they look, how beautiful _she_ looks.

"Ben. . ." Rey says, ducking her head from his inspection, suddenly shy.

Does she feel more vulnerable like this -- sheathed in a simple black dress and heels, a delicate silver chain around her neck -- than she did wearing her ratty t-shirt and yoga pants the other day? Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?

An elbow discreetly digs into his side, and she speaks out of the side of her mouth: "Are you going to introduce me, or just undress me with your eyes?"

Ben blushes at the thought, even though he wasn't, in fact, imagining her sans clothes. Leaning down, Ben scarcely brushes his lips along her temple before angling them toward her ear so only she can hear him whisper. "If I was picturing you naked, Rey, you'd know."

He swears he can feel her skin twitch and shiver as he rests his hands on her mid-back, coaxing her to turn toward his father and the other revelers. He extends an open palm to indicate each person. "Rey, this is my father, Han Solo, my Uncle Lando, and my Uncle Charles. Everyone calls him Chewie. Gentlemen, this is Rey."

Instead of a straightforward _it's nice to meet you_ , Rey launches in with, "Han Solo? The pilot? The one who landed the 787 after a goose ripped through one of the turbines? _That_ Han Solo?"

His father looks suitably shocked to be identified as the pilot, and Ben, too, is surprised Rey knows his father's aviation history.

"How do you know about that?" his father asks.

"I studied the engine!" Rey totters forward on her heels, and she throws out a hand, smacking the back of it against Ben’s chest. "You didn't tell me your dad was Han-bloody-Solo. The guy's a legend at the yard."

"You work at the airport?"

"Aircraft maintenance."

The pieces are coming together in Han's mind, and he swings around the retrieve a glass of champagne for Rey. Once she takes it from him, he tips his glass. "Cheers to you, Rey," he declares. "Without you and your colleagues, I'd have no plane to fly."

Ben looks between the pair, doing at double-take when he notices the color on Rey's cheeks. She's blushing like his dad is her goddamn idol. That won't do. She didn't come here for Han Solo. She came here for him. After they clink glasses and drink, Ben grips Rey's arm above the elbow and says, "We should move to the event hall. My mother's speech will start soon."

A flash of discomfort streaks over her eyes as she squirms out of his firm hold. "They're still sore from last night," Rey explains quietly, then addresses his statement. "What do you mean your mother's speech?"

Han laughs at the bar, knocking back the rest of his cocktail and clapping Rey on her shoulders like she's a long-lost poker buddy. "Kid, if you were surprised I'm his dad, wait until you meet his mom."

 

* * *

 

Rey plucks the sateen fabric at the front of her dress, more nervous than she can ever remember being in her life. She could kill Ben for not telling her all of this beforehand, though she supposes they didn't have much time between their gym session and the event tonight. She'd agreed to attend without knowing what she was getting herself in to, so she can't be mad at him.

Thank god for Rose. Upon Rey's lunchtime debrief about her neighbor and the invitation he'd extended, Rose had the forethought to do some research. "Uh, Rey, this 'thing for the city' is a big dedication. It's, like, _fancy_. What are you going to wear?"

Rey didn't own anything appropriate for the occasion. When she isn't in coveralls, she's in yoga pants and a t-shirt or sweater. She owns one pair of jeans and one summer dress that wouldn't fit the semi-formal dress code in any sense.

Thankfully, Rose had come to the rescue on that end too. She'd pulled one of her sister's dresses from Paige's closet and a pair of black strappy heels half a size too small for Rey from her own. Together, they'd worked on adding some volume to her flat, hard-hat hair. Rose had forced her to put on some eye makeup and lipstick before shoving her out the door to catch her Lyft to the conservatory.

Standing toward the front of the room, waiting for Leia Organa-Solo, Pittsburgh's Mayor, Rey is acutely aware of every piece of her borrowed getup. She knows the fabric doesn't lay as it should: it's too large in the bust and waist, too short in the hem. The high-low, pleated skirt is supposed to trail all the way to her ankle, but it cuts off mid-calf. The shortest section doesn't quite hide her knees. On her feet, the shoes pinch across her toes as she tries to shove them deeper so her heels doesn't hang off the back end. Feeling like an utter mess, she's about to meet the mayor -- the same woman who, Ben implied on their stroll over, thinks she's dating her son. _Fantastic._

"She can sense fear from across the room, you know," Ben teases, reaching out to still her hands with one of his own. It only takes one to cover both of hers, massive as they are.

"You realize I'm going to pay you back for this, I hope," Rey mutters, fingers moving to clutch Ben's sleeve. "A little warning would have been nice."

He smiles. "Fine. I’ll return the favor and be your plus-one to _your_ parents’ holiday festivities."

The pang in her chest at the mention of her parents is sharp. Rey hates it. They passed away years and years ago, practically before she can remember them, yet the loss strikes anew every time she thinks about them. Of course, Ben doesn't know that; it's never come up.

Something must show on her face, because Ben's head dips lower, his voice notched with concern: "Rey?"

She shakes her head, not wanting to explore her past amidst jovial party-goers and cheery lights. This is a place of happiness and she's going to keep it that way. "Not now."

The painful thoughts have at least one happy consequence: she momentarily forgot her nervousness, and now Leia is standing in front of her with her arms stretched wide, waiting to embrace her.

Rey toddles forward into the unexpected but not unwelcome embrace. His mother smells like pine and vanilla frosting. The strength behind her hug brings a sense of comfort. This is a woman whose shoulders are broad enough to bear any kind of burden, be it upheaval in the city after a Steelers’ loss or family drama. Whatever anxiety Rey had before meeting Leia vanishes the moment they lock eyes.

Leia's hands squeeze hers. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear."

The warm greeting leaves Rey momentarily speechless, but she smiles slowly. "It's so nice to meet you," she finally pushes out when she remembers what words are. "Ben--"

Leia laughs at her abrupt stop. "Hasn't said much about me, has he?" The older woman frowns up at her son, then leans in to Rey with a conspiratorial smirk, whispering, "You make him nervous. I thought only I could do that. Keep it up."

Ben clears his throat, and the women part, sharing a soft look between them. "If you're done, mother, I'd like to show Rey some of the other displays. And I think the press is waiting for you."

The mayor sighs delicately, though she shrugs her shoulders like an apathetic teenager. "Duty calls. You two have a lovely time. Rey," Leia pauses to tap the end of her nose twice, staring at her intently, "remember what I said."

Color rushes to her cheeks, but Leia leaves before she can respond in any verbal way. If only his mother knew this was all a farce, that she isn't actually dating her son, that he has no interest in her.

_Well_ , she thinks. _Does he?_

It's hard to believe they only met each other for the first time five days ago. Rey found it easy to be around Ben almost from the start. She's certainly begun to think of him as more than her nameless neighbor; now he’s a workout buddy, maybe even a friend.

A thought wheedles through her mind: _Does Rose touch your ass while showing you workout moves? Does Finn tell you you'll know when he's imagining you naked?_ The heat on her cheeks spreads to her neck. Her throat goes dry and she rasps out, "I think I need drink."

"There's another pop-up bar inside the Broderie Room," Ben supplies, running his hand along her back to steer her in the correct direction.

They have to go outside in order to get to their destination, and Ben offers up his suit jacket without a thought. Rey doesn't protest, first, because it's colder tonight than it was the previous evening and she'd had her own coat then, and second, because his scent settles around her in tandem with the fabric. It's a clean, pleasing scent with something like sandalwood or cedar beneath it -- something that reminds her of the woods.

The third reason she doesn't complain? Ben's wearing an impeccably pressed white shirt with vest to match his jacket. It's a shade lighter than navy and compliments his pale skin. The buttons at his throat are undone; he hadn't worn a tie. Everything conforms to his body perfectly, a tell-tale sign that it's a tailored piece. Rey isn't sure if it's her unstable shoes or if her covert ogling has made her knees weak, but she stumbles through the door to the Broderie Room. She’s forced to catch herself on the nearest object: a large vase filled with poinsettias that she almost topples to the ground.

"Rey!" Ben rushes to help her stand upright again, wiggling the iron vase back in place. "You okay?"

"Fine," she says, shooting at look at the lonely bartender whose eyebrows are hiked halfway up his forehead. "Sorry!" she calls out.

Ben chuckles. "You didn't have to wear heels, you know. You're already tall."

The praise hits like a little arrow that bursts above her head and showers her in warmth. "Oh? So, you've noticed."

"I have," he confesses. "You're the perfect height."

There was a perfect height? _What an odd compliment_ , Rey thinks until she registers the way his eyes travel over her face, lingering on her lips. Her heart goes wild, hammering against her rib cage until it's painful. _Whoa, whoa, whoa. Is he about to kiss me?_

Rey's body autopilots out of there, ducking around his wall of a body to look at the room itself. Its manicured hedge borders are filled with velvety red petals. There must by five hundred poinsettias in this single space. The lights here are more subdued, accenting the fences and vases, but leaving enough shadow to make the space seem. . .intimate.

"What's that?" Rey says, pointing toward the end of the room, farthest from the barman.

Ben stands beside her, his jaw working as if he wants to say something about what just happened -- or _didn't_ happen -- but he opts to answer her question instead. "The official wishing well."

"'Official'?"

"It's been verified," Ben returns with a little smile. "Wishes are guaranteed or your money back."

Rey hums with amusement, striding forward and using the railing to guide her up the few stairs. What she doesn't wish to do is face-plant into the stone well as she's approaching it. That would be her luck. With the railing to steady her, she makes it just fine. Still, she eyes the fairytale-esque well skeptically. "What's the catch?"

Ben, who has followed her up the stairs, braces his hands on the top of the wishing well's stone ledge. "What do you mean? There's no catch on wishes."

"Sure there is," Rey argues. "That whole 'can't wish for more wishes, bring people back from the dead, or make people fall in love with you' clause."

Ben leans his hip against the wall and crosses his arms, grinning at her even as he shakes his head. "I'm fairly certain that's from a Disney film, not reality."

She cocks an eyebrow at him. "We're talking about wishes here. That's not exactly realistic either."

Ben digs through his pockets while she talks, finally coming up with a spare quarter. He holds it out to her. "Humor this believer?"

Rey sighs, but swipes the coin from his hand, muttering, "Fine, but it's a waste of twenty-five cents."

She closes her eyes and focuses on something impossible, something unchangeable, something that can't possibly come true now that it's over. _I wish I'd let him kiss me._

Almost laughing to herself over the ridiculousness of her wish, she drops the quarter into the water. With a soft _plop_ it breaks the surface and sinks into the darkness, dragging her dream down with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope ya'll are enjoying this as much as I am. <3


	7. Christmas Movie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey is in desperate need of tampons. Who ever could she ask for help?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some pure silliness, at least in my eyes. It does talk about periods / menstruation and there's a comment about blood, fair warning.

Rey spends the majority of the next day in her most comfortable pair of yoga pants, alternatively curled up on the couch with a hot mug of tea in hand or buried under her comforter in the fetal position. Her cramps are relentless and making her absolutely miserable. Pain medications haven't helped at all. Her heating pad alleviates some of the discomfort, but she can't decide whether she wants it on her back or on her stomach. Both hurt.

What irritates her most is having to call in sick to both of her jobs; she prefers to use her sick days for when she has something special she wants to do, not for when she's actually sick. The kicker, of course, is she isn't ill. Her uterus has just decided to throw her against the ropes today. She's not a fan.

Things only get worse when she gropes beneath the sink and discovers she's down to her last tampon -- a lite flow that will tide her over for all of an hour, if she's lucky. Rey groans, finally remembering the items on her shopping list she'd been unable to purchase because of the Strip's weekend crowd. Regret lances through her like a spear to the gut.

Scurrying out to the living room, she nests herself on the couch and reaches for her phone. If she attempts to venture out for supplies, it will turn into a bloody nightmare. It's time to enlist reinforcements.

_Rose to the rescue_ , Rey thinks, starting to text her friend about her emergency. But she stops halfway through. Rose would absolutely take an extended lunch to bring her more tampons, but Rey's guilt nibbles on her decision until her thumb has deleted every letter of text. She can't ask Rose to dock her hours so close to the holidays.

Chewing her bottom lip, Rey contemplates the only other person she could feasibly ask. Wouldn't it be neighborly of Ben to help her out?

_Do you really want him to know you're on your period?_ a voice asks.

What's the big deal if he does? Rey remembers the way he looked at her last night, how his eyes took in her fancy borrowed dress and glittery eyes, how they focused on her lips with intent. Maybe it's best she put the kibosh on the feelings his gaze stirred up. If he doesn’t heed her cry for aid, she can write him off as any other immature guy -- though 'immature' isn't a word she ascribes to him at all.

_And if he does help?_ the voice asks again.

Rey sighs, wincing as another cramp needles at her and muttering, "Then he's just being a decent human and a good neighbor."

 

* * *

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket while he's in the middle of a meeting with Snoke, Phasma, and Armitage. He's grateful for the unexpected buzz -- he was beginning to fall asleep listening to Hux drone on and on about projected membership increases over the coming weeks.

Not bothering to be covert, he slips out his phone and reads the screen. In all caps, he sees one word under Rey's name: "HELP." Concern piqued, Ben excuses himself from the meeting, ignoring how his employer's eyes narrow in a disapproving way.

When he steps into the hall, there's a picture waiting for him. Ben stares at it for a moment, reading the bubbled letters on the purple box twice before he really understands what they say. Why is Rey sending him a picture of a tampon box?

Her follow up texts explain.

 

_I ran out. Help? Please!?_  
_Like a good neighbor, Ben Solo is here. With tampons._

 

His first reaction to her request is bewilderment. It's not an errand he's ever encountered before, though he's never had a girlfriend in need of such supplies. _She's not your girlfriend, Ben,_ his mind is quick to remind him. _She's your neighbor._

She’d even pushed that point home by rephrasing the StateFarm Insurance jingle to suit her needs. It makes Ben smile.

Judging from her texts, he imagines she needs the tampons sooner rather than later. He glances at his watch and grinds his teeth. Hux will be another hour yet, at least. The man had good sense most of the time, but his meetings were unnecessarily long-winded; Ben thinks he simply likes to hear himself talk and hold an audience prisoner while he's at it. Hasn't Ben sat through enough of his projection meetings to warrant an early release from this one? It's not as if he didn't read Hux's report.

Decision made, Ben ducks his head into the conference room and says, "I have to go. Something's come up."

"But I'm not finished," Hux protests.

Of course he doesn't want to lose one of his captives. "I'll email you if I have any questions about your report." Ben nods to Phasma and Snoke. "Have a good weekend."

The open displeasure on Snoke's lips thins them out until they're almost a straight line, but Ben will take his chances. He knows Snoke won't fire him over missing the end of one meeting, though Ben imagines he'll pay for it in other ways. He'll probably make Ben add more appearances and recruiting expos to his already lengthy list.

If he helps Rey, though, he'll put up with the consequences that follow.

Ben swings into a CVS Pharmacy on the way back to their shared apartment building, combing the feminine care aisle for the exact brand Rey sent him, dazzled by all the colorful boxes spouting claims of superior protection and anti-leak wear. Before he can get overwhelmed, he picks up the desired box and speeds toward the register.

While in line, he adds a chocolate bar to his purchase. Wait, didn't menstruation last for a week? Ben's fuzzy on the details from his high school health class, but he's sure a single chocolate bar isn’t going to cut it. Picking a variety, he adds six more before finally getting to the counter.

The older woman at the register smiles down at the items, chuckling as she scans them, though she doesn't make a comment. Ben takes her mirth as a good sign.

Fifteen minutes later, he's knocking lightly on her door with a full bag in his hand.

She looks a bit startled when she opens the door, and it's at that point Ben realizes he dashed off to help without telling her he was on his way. He wets his lips to wash away the sudden embarrassment he feels. He hadn't been embarrassed while purchasing the goods, but now that he's delivering them, he feels heat rise up his neck.

"I hope I found the right ones," he says even though he's confident he matched them perfectly. He digs the box out of the bag and shows her the proof. "Active-fit. Supers." His eyes narrow in confusion. "Why do they call them 'supers'? Why not just small, medium, and large? Make it simple to understand. Or at least lite, medium, and heavy?"

Red stains bloom on her cheeks as he continues to ramble and make the exchange even more awkward. "I don't know," she says, gripping the edge of the door. "Maybe they want me to feel heroic while I'm bleeding out everywhere."

Alarmed brows climb up his forehead as his eyes travel down to the juncture of her thighs. He doesn't see blood anywhere. Catching himself, he snaps his eyes back to hers. "Are you okay?"

She laughs lightly and Ben realizes her statement was hyperbolic. "I'll be fine. Thank you." She salutes him with the box. "I'll pay you back when I get some cash tomorrow?"

Ben doesn't say anything about the money, but holds up the bag of chocolates. "I thought you might be able to use some of these too," he explains. "Not for the blood, of course. But for the. . .honestly, I don't understand the chocolate thing."

Rey's eyes peep into the bag, and when they meet his again, there's water glistening behind them. Great. He's made her cry.

Panicking about what to do with a teary-eyed Rey, he doesn’t expect the top half of her to fall forward against his chest, rooting into the open V of his coat. She presses her forehead between his pecs and stays there a long moment while her arms squeeze underneath his and wrap around him, hugging him to her. Ben stands there, stunned, mouth open and eyes wide. Finally, he uses his free hand to rub her upper back.

"Rey?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against him, pulling back and sniffling. "You're great. A great neighbor."

He smiles at her, still unsure where all the emotion is coming from but assuming it has something to do with her hormones. He runs his hand from her back to her shoulder, then skims his knuckles over her cheek. "Can I level up from neighbor?" he asks quietly. "Can we be friends? Friends make tampon runs, right?"

She laughs, wiping away the stubborn tears she probably has little control over and leaning against the door frame. "It's not like I can make a tampon run for you in return."

Ben shrugs. "I'm sure I'll need something one of these days."

"Condoms," Rey says abruptly, then sputters a bit before quietly adding, "You know, if you run out in a time of need, I've got you."

Now it's Ben's turn to flush with color. Rey knows he's not seeing anyone, yet she makes it sound like he is. Instead of reiterating his lack of attachment, he says, "A fair trade."

A beat passes between them, and Ben begins to voice his "I should go" at the very same moment Rey utters, "Want to come in?"

She goes on when he cocks his head. "I was getting ready to watch a Christmas movie and stuff my face with Chinese and leftover cookies."

He shakes his head at her choice of dinner, but at the end of a long week, there's more than some appeal to winding down with junk food while watching a movie with his cute neighbor. "What's the movie?"

" _The Spirit of Christmas_ ," Rey answers with a wry smile. "It's about a moody ghost and this woman who stays at his house over the holidays. It's cheesy and romantic and exactly what the doctor ordered."

Ben fights an eye-roll. It's not exactly his cinematic cup of tea; however, he supposes he can indulge Rey for the evening. On one condition: "Okay, but when it's over, we're watching _Gremlins_."

Ben follows Rey as she shuffles backward with her tampons and chocolates. "That is _not_ a Christmas movie," she declares with a shake of her head. "But I'll allow it on account of the pharmacy run."

Ben laughs warmly, closing the door to the hall and looking forward to making an argument about why his chosen film is, indeed, a holiday classic.


	8. Snowstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It looks like they are going to be snowed in at the airport."  
> Bring on the BED SHARING.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got out of hand. But it's bed sharing. How could it NOT get out of hand? Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Snow storms roll in from the south overnight which gives most people in the region a reason to stay in bed on a Saturday morning. For Rey, it means getting up extra early and putting in overtime at the airport. While she's a mechanic first and foremost, when the flight schedule is threatened by winter weather and low temperatures, she's recruited to a deicing squad. It's brutal, freezing work. Even the insulated parka and heavy-duty gloves the airport provides can't keep her totally warm.

It doesn't help that Unkar reams her out on the phone when she calls off that day. "Two days in a row, Rey. Unacceptable. It's like you don't even want this job. I can find someone else to take it off your hands, you know."

Rey rolls her eyes at the threat. As terrible as he is, Unkar would never do it. Rey has entirely too much to hold over his head. While shoving her foot into her boot, she throws back, "And I'm sure the owner of that Audi A8 would like to take their lifted car off yours. I bet the police would be able to help them find it, with a certain anonymous tip."

There's a string of grumbling from the other end of the line, which ends in, "You're coming in tomorrow."

Her voice hardens. Her Sundays are something she'll never negotiate. "I'll be in Monday." Rey cuts the line, grousing under her breath about Unkar's nerve to be so demanding. It's not like he lifted one lazy finger to do anything around the shop. Without her, his business would sink.

Out in the hallway, Rey runs into a bundled up Ben. She gives him a small smile, too miffed about Unkar and the cold day ahead of her to be more than mildly pleasant. At least her cramps have died down. "Hey," she says.

"Hey," he returns easily, stretching his long fingers into a pair of leather gloves. Combined with his tailored wool coat and Burberry scarf, he looks every bit a model like Rey once postulated. "Heading out?"

"I have to cover at the airport," Rey explains, not bothering to hide how grumpy she is about it. _It's overtime, Rey. Extra money is a good thing._ If she gets the lead mechanic promotion she's been gunning for, she'll be able to leave Unkar's shop and the distasteful man himself behind.

Ben shivers dramatically at the thought. "Not the best way to spend a Saturday morning," he remarks. "Do you want a ride? I'll be in Robinson most of the day. There's a mall event I have to host. First Order Fitness is sponsoring a dance school's Christmas performance."

"Are you the emcee?" The idea of Ben towering over children in tutus and tap shoes pushes aside her lingering grouchiness; it's an adorable picture. When he nods, Rey smiles and nods back. "I'd love to carpool."

Ben's BMW Gran Coupe is a 6 Series that has just enough flash to say he's successful at what he does without making it seem like he's compensating for something. Rey's eyes travel up his long legs to his broad shoulders, thinking there's probably nothing this man has to make up for when it comes to being well-endowed. She squirms in her heated seat at the thought, both loving and hating the heat seeping into her pants from below.

They talk intermittently about his father and how Rey knew his history. They talk about her transfer from Chicago's Midway -- where her caregiver, Qi'ra, raised her -- to Pittsburgh International Airport. Rey still holds off on explaining how she came to live her elderly, distant cousin, and she's glad when Ben doesn't push to know. Mostly, though, they don't talk. Ben needs to focus on the poor road conditions, and Rey is not aiming to distract him.

He follows her directions to the staff entrance and drops her off at the gate. "I'll text you when I'm done. I can always park in short-term until you're ready to go."

Rey nods. "Drive safe. Fingers crossed it doesn't get any worse out there."

Naturally, she shouldn't have said anything. As the day wears on, conditions only get worse. The deicing teams can hardly keep up, even with extra staff coming in to help. They have to take frequent breaks to stand under gas heaters, the wind bitter enough to make her eyes leak at the sides and freeze almost instantly. It's nasty business.

"Hey," Rose says from the Delta team when they meet up under the heater. "Finn says flights are getting canceled right and left. Snap told me I can take off, so it's probably not much longer until he sends you home too. Didn't you say Ben drove you?"

Rey nods vigorously under her hood, incapable of breathing deeply enough for a long-winded reply.

"You'd better tell him to just head home now. Roads will get awful if they aren't already. It'd be better for you to stay at the Hyatt." Rose, always in a rush from one place to the next, waves goodbye after they make a quick exchange for one another to stay safe and a hug.

Rey pulls her phone from her pocket to fill Ben in on the situation when she sees a text from him on her screen.

 

_Huge pile-up on 376. Parked in overnight. Grabbing coffee and lunch in Departures._

 

Well, he hadn't abandoned her. That was something. Still, it leaves Rey feeling guilty. She's trapped him here because she didn't drive herself to work. Snap Wexley, her team overseer on the deicing squad, comes over with a grim look on his face. _Oh, boy,_ Rey thinks. Rose is about to be proven wrong, she can feel it.

"Passenger planes are mostly grounded, but there are few FedEx-ers and U.S. Post that have to ship out before I can turn you loose. Sorry, kid." Unlike Unkar, Rey doesn't think Snap is working her to death on purpose. If he had any other choice, he'd take it.

Pulling her ski-mask down over her lips again, Rey trudges off to finish up her shift.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is gone. As is his lunch and his coffee. His cell phone battery isn't too well-off either. Bored and worried, he's been using it to keep abreast of road conditions and weather reports; neither lead Ben to think they'll be making it back to the Strip District this evening. PennDot is having one hell of time cleaning up the interstates, especially considering the 20-car pileup on their direct route home. There are plenty of other ways he knows to bypass the highway, but the side-roads likely haven't been touched by a plow or a salt truck yet.

It looks like they are going to be snowed in at the airport.

Finally, at close to six o'clock, Ben's phone buzzes.

 

_Meet me at the Hyatt walkway._

 

_Give me ten minutes._

 

He stops at Buford's Kitchen and orders up a burger and fries to go, unsure if she's eaten anything. Once he locates the walkway, he takes the people-mover to the very end of the enclosed passageway between the airport and the hotel. Rey is still bundled in her coat and gloves, hugging herself around the middle like she's standing outside in the elements. When he greets her, her face is red and wind-chapped around the eyes, her hair is somehow both flat and full of static, and her nose is running.

"I'm glad I didn't spring for a milkshake too," he says, holding out the bag. "Thought you might be hungry."

Rey takes the bag with a weak smile, and it's no wonder she's weary if she's been out in this terrible weather all day. It doesn't seem right -- to keep employees out in such conditions, especially when so many flights were canceled.

"Have you heard anything else about the roads?" she asks.

"KDKA reports multiple accidents and says no one should be out there unless it's an emergency."

Rey's eyes close, her chin dipping toward her chest. "Guess we'll have to see what's available."

They go in with their fingers crossed. At the service desk, the middle-aged man shakes his head sympathetically. "I'm sorry. But there's no vacancy. We're entirely full thanks to the cancellations. Normally, we'd shuttle you to a satellite location, but with the roads as they are, we simply can't."

Rey rests her arms on the counter and slumps over dramatically, defeated. "Fantastic."

"Are you sure there isn't anything? Not even for airport staff?" Ben glances down at Rey meaningfully. "She just worked her ass off all day out there. Don't make her sleep in a terminal chair. Please."

The man studies them for a moment, his gray eyes softening around the edges. Delicately, he picks up his corded phone and mumbles into the receiver for a manager. Putting it down, he focuses his attention on them again. "Let me see what I can do. There may be an. . .unconventional solution, if you're okay with that."

"As long as there is a mattress and a bathroom," Rey mutters at the floor, her head still buried between her arms on the counter, "I don't care."

Ben's hand reaches out to rub across her shoulders, though with all her layers, he's not sure she can feel it.

The manager emerges and, together with the clerk, they stare at the computer screen intently, mumbling to each other about possible solutions. It takes several moments to work things out, but finally, the clerk offers them a gentle smile.

"We don't have any rooms available, but we've shuffled the surplus inventory and found some cots. There's a small meeting room we can arrange them in for privacy, though the only bathroom available is down the hall. Would that be okay?"

"Obviously, you won't be charged," the manager adds. "We try to accommodate airport staff as much as possible under such circumstances."

Rey's hands slap the counter. When she stands upright, her face beams. "Yes. Perfect. We'll take it."

Ben wouldn't call the setup ‘perfect,’ but at least they'll have beds at their disposal. All he says is "Thank you."

The manager leads them to the elevators and they travel to the second floor, down a dimly lit corridor -- why did hotel hallways always remind him of _The Shining_? -- stopping at a door labeled "Madison Room." It is, indeed, a small conference room with only six chairs around a table. Together, they push the chairs against the wall and Ben helps the manager lift the table, carrying it as close to the large windows as possible.

"Someone will bring the cots up shortly. The restrooms are just down the hall, second door on the right. Thank you for your flexibility."

The woman leaves and Rey sinks into one of the wheeled chairs, opening up the bag of food. She takes out the burger first, looking at it thoughtfully. "Did you eat?" she asks, sounding almost like she hopes he has. "We could split this."

Ben shakes his head at the offer. He'd bought it for her, after all, and she must be starved. When she'd described the deicing process in the car this morning, it sounded like a rigorous job. "I may take a few fries, if you don't finish them."

Rey does finish them. And the burger. All before there's a knock on the door and an announcement that room service is waiting for them.

Ben greets a younger man on the other side, his hand resting atop a folded cot on wheels. "I have your extra bed," he reports, "some pillows, blankets, and a complimentary basket of toiletries."

Rey peeps around Ben's shoulder. "Where's the second cot?"

The kid -- he can't be older than seventeen -- shrugs in true service-industry apathy Ben is sure his manager would chastise if she were here. "I tried to collect the second one from 407, but the lady wouldn't give it up. Said since she paid for it, she was keeping it."

Ben squeezes the bridge of his nose, but backs up so the attendant can wheel the bed in and set down the rest of their goods. His head starts to pound as the kid waits expectantly at the door. Finally, Ben reaches into his pocket and doles out a five, just to get rid of him.

Ben looks back at the bed, wondering what they're going to do with only one cot and two of them. He doesn't relish the idea of sleeping on the thin carpet. He eyes the table next to the window and his back hurts just considering it a possibility.

Rey grabs the bag of toiletries from the nearby chair and speeds her way out the door, leaving Ben with the conundrum of their sleeping arrangements.

 

* * *

 

Her quick exit let's Rey breathe a little easier. She doesn't know what she would have done if Ben suggested they sleep together on the tiny, twin-sized mattress.

_But what other choice is there?_ she wonders as she pushes into the floor's public restroom and rummages through the complimentary bag for a toothbrush and toothpaste. When she's finished, she puts them aside, letting her fingers stay under the cool tap water for thirty seconds, trying to get them to thaw. She's been inside for over half an hour now, but she's so chilled beneath her coat and other layers that it still feels like she's standing outside. The icy temperatures have seeped into her, burrowing into her thighs and any other part of her that isn't pure muscle.

What she wants, more than anything, is to strip bare and climb into a hot shower, staying there until her bones and flesh weep out the cold and it siphons down the drain. She'd hoped for a hotel room with at least that one amenity, but it seems it isn't in the cards tonight.

Placing her warmed fingers against her cheeks, she rubs them, trying to circulate energy back into her body. Rey checks herself, knowing exactly what she's doing: delaying the inevitable awkwardness when she gets back to the meeting room. What if he's already in bed when she returns?

The joke, it appears, is on her. When she walks back into the room, Ben is nowhere to be found. The cot, however, has been lowered and made up with sheets, a fleece blanket, and a pillow. There are also a blanket and pillow set up on the conference room table.

"Is he serious?" she mumbles to herself.

"Yes." Ben's voice startles her. It's low, almost a purr. He flicks the overhead lights off, though enough light bounces off of the snow outside and comes in through the windows to offer some illumination. "I'll sleep on the table."

Her heart pounds inside her chest, though she isn't sure if it's from being scared or from being secluded in a room with her neighbor who, she sees when he walks toward the table, is wearing only a white tank top, boxers, and socks. He carefully lays his folded dress shirt, slacks, and tie on an open chair, hanging his suit jacket around the back.

"Are you going to wear that coat all night?" he asks.

"I'm cold," she defends. It's all she can manage to croak out when faced with her indecently clad neighbor she's having more and more trouble viewing as only a neighbor. Where does he get off being so damn attractive?

Ben turns so his back is to the table and casually sits down. He's so tall that it might as well be a regular chair for him. Even perched as he is, his tiptoes still touch the ground. "Sure you are," he says. "You've got all that cold air trapped inside your jacket. It can't get out. You need to let it go if you want to warm up."

She cocks her head at him. "Are you telling me I should strip down to my knickers like you?"

There's a long pause. Then, quietly: "I suppose I am."

The confirmation makes Rey shiver in a way that has nothing to do with trapped air or being outside in below freezing windchill. It's also what makes her pivot toward the cot and flounce down, jacket, boots, and all. Maybe that makes her a coward, but divesting herself of everything but her base layer in front of Ben -- a sports bra and pair of old boyshorts that have seen better days -- sounds like a terrible idea.

A terrible, _wonderful_ idea.

Which is why she throws the fleece blanket over herself and promptly says, "Goodnight, Ben."

 

* * *

 

He supposes, if there were better lighting in the room, Ben would have seen a fierce blush break out over her wind-chapped cheeks. The heat across his own is enough to make him drag a hand over his face, trying to wipe it away. He can't catch himself before he makes suggestive comments to Rey. It's been a long time since he's flirted with someone so openly. Usually, it's women who flirt with him, but Ben finds he delights in her abrupt reactions. He never really knows what to expect from her. It's exhilarating.

It takes Ben all of five minutes tossing and turning on the table before he realizes it's never going to work. Sliding off of it, he folds the blanket into thirds and lays it down on the ground for some extra padding, tossing the pillow on the ground at the head. Positioning himself on the skinny rectangle, he finds it's more comfortable than the wooden table, but only just. And now, without the blanket on top of him, he can feel the chill of the room.

From above him and to the left, he hears a soft "Ben?" It's a sleepy sound, muffled by covers and layers of clothing.

"Hmm?" he hums, attempting to mimic her drowsy tone and not give away just how awake and uncomfortable he is.

"I'm cold."

He bites back on the smile which wants to appear at the slight whine in her voice. Ben thinks he manages to hide it from his voice when he concurs with her. "Yeah. Me too."

The cot's mattress creaks and groans on the springs. A sigh follows after she finds a new position. "Are you going to make me ask?"

Ben gulps, his lips suddenly in need of wetting. She really wants to share that tiny cot with him? Giant him? Ben isn't even sure he'll fit on the bed. In college he'd hardly fit on the extra-long twin dorm beds without his feet dangling off the end. Rey may be thin, but he wouldn't use the word "small" to describe her.

"Ben?" she calls again.

He gets to his feet in a single breath, padding over to the side of the cot. "You have to at least take your shoes off," he instructs.

One booted leg whips out from beneath the blanket. "Be a friend?"

He's not sure where this playfulness suddenly comes from, but Ben humors her, taking her boot in hand, unlacing the front ties, and slipping it from her foot. His hand wraps around it, concerned by how chilled it is to the touch. He clasps it between both hands and rubs them over her toes and the arch of her foot experimentally. Rey gasps, then snorts, her leg jerking and colliding with his side.

"Sorry," she says. "I guess I'm ticklish."

Ben files the information away; perhaps it will be useful at some future date, though he can't fathom why he'd need to tickle her at any point. He picks up her other boot and makes quick work of it too, dropping both shoes to the ground.

Suddenly, Rey curls into a seated position, knees folded in toward her chest. Of her own volition, she unzips the parka she insisted on wearing to bed, wriggling out of it with some difficulty. Ben watches it fall to the floor, then stares at it more intently when he sees her reach for her sweater's hem out of the periphery of his eye. It too, joins the pile. She sheds her tank top next, leaving her in only a sports bra.

She reaches for her jeans' closures and Ben's fingers dig into the tops of his thighs. He remains mute, afraid that any acknowledgement of what she's doing will make her stop. Though he can't make out more than a hazy outline of her body and shadows against her skin, Ben doesn't want to discourage the undressing process.

She shimmies out of her jeans, revealing a pair of leggings underneath, and this time, Ben can't keep himself from chuckling out a quiet observation. "You really piled on the layers."

It earns him a light punch against his shoulder. "Hush. I was worried about freezing to death."

Rey slips her hands beneath the Spandex and he hears her intake a sharp breath. "I'm still a human Popsicle."

He doesn't go into a lecture about loose layers and proper cold-weather insulation. As he waits for her to peel the last layer from her skin, he says, "We'll get you to melt yet."

Rey groans, shifting the blanket aside so he can stretch out beside her. It's just a glimpse, but there she is, in only her bra, underwear, and socks -- his neighbor he's starting to think he'd like to be more than a neighbor, more than a _friend._ He'd come so close to kissing her at the conservatory, but she'd ducked away from him before he could press his lips to hers. She'd made it clear then, that she wasn't interested. Despite getting nearly naked with her, this couldn't lead to anything.

Clearing his mind of any fantasies of taking this somewhere, Ben sinks onto the mattress beside her. With his broad shoulders, he has to turn on his side, toward the wall. Rey faces the same direction. Her hand snakes behind her and searches for his, grabbing it and dragging it across her stomach, encouraging him to cuddle closer. "Don't fall off the edge," she mumbles, already sounding sleepy again.

How she manages that, he hasn't a clue. His body is alight with sensory information. His brain sounds like it’s in the middle of a war zone, explosions going off each time another part of her body touches his. When she wiggles her rear against his thighs and melds her legs to his own, a nuclear bomb drops straight into his stomach, flooding it with liquid heat.

His breathing hitches, giving him away. It's been so fucking long since he's had any kind of contact with a woman -- half naked or otherwise; the lapse between now and his last relationship edges on years, not months. His body is all too aware of how good she feels, how right she feels. Ben tries to calm the voices in his mind, to put out the fires she's set just by drawing him closer.

It doesn't work. The next time she brushes against him, he knows she can feel his obvious reaction to her, knows because she lets out a groan that arouses the hell out of him.

Her arm reaches back again, sliding over his hip. Rey pats the side as if in apology and mumbles, "Not tonight, m'kay?"

Ben stays up until the first streaks of dawn fan into the room, wondering just what she means by that.


	9. Skiing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is catching major feelings. Also, mutual pining? Misunderstandings? Ahoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder that this is un-beta'd. It's also way past my bed time as I'm posting this, so I hope it isn't riddled with too many boo boos. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

With a human furnace behind her, Rey's chilled body thaws out overnight. When morning comes, she feels Ben peel himself away from her and slip from the cot. She cracks her eyes to see pink strips of light streaked on the dropped ceiling tiles though the rest of the room is dim. It must be early -- early enough to warrant snuggling back under the blanket and curling her legs up to compensate for the loss of his heat.

She thought it would be impossible to sleep soundly on a dinky mattress, one she couldn't even have to herself, in an unfamiliar space. Boy, was she wrong. Rey can't remember the last time she's felt this rested. Maybe it helped to have a half-naked giant curved around her? It's something she could get used to.

Except this won’t be happening again. This had been a fluke, a matter of poor circumstances. He only crawled onto the bed because she asked -- well, almost asked. Ben tried everything he could to stay away from her, testing out the table and the floor before finally joining her. His hasty morning retreat proved beyond a doubt it wasn't something he enjoyed.

Curiously upset by the thought, Rey fights the blankets until she's free of them, then scurries to collect her shed clothing from the ground. By the time Ben reenters the room, already dressed in his day-old suit and grumbling under his breath, Rey has managed to pull on most of her layers. She opts to leave the leggings and parka off for now; jeans and her sweater are enough.

"Morning," she says.

Ben stops where he is, pivots to face her, and nods. "Morning."

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Can anyone sleep well on a roll out?" he counters.

Rey ducks her head, focusing on tying her boot laces. "I did."

"Good for you."

His words are clipped. Combined with his brusque movements as he dons his coat, Rey can't help but feel he's agitated for some reason. Is this because of last night? She's almost afraid to know the answer. Over the last week, they'd seemed to be getting on rather well. This. . .this isn't the Ben she knows. The man in front of her isn't the same one who brought her a burger and fries after her long shift, who offered to drive her to work. What had changed overnight?

Rey finishes lacing her boots, planting both soles on the thin carpet before standing. "You are a real grump in the morning, Ben Solo."

He freezes again, studying her as his scarf falls from his hands to dangle against his chest. The skin at the edges of his eyes softens and his mouth falls open as though he's about to say something when his phone buzzes. Everything hardens again, and he withdraws the phone to read the message on the screen. His lips draw into a frown.

Maybe this has less to do with her and more to do with whatever is going on with those texts. "What is it?" Rey asks.

His jaw hinges shut, teeth grinding together as he taps out a responding message. "It's my boss. He wants me in Seven Springs by 10 AM."

A pang of empathy for him shoots through her; Rey knows how demanding bosses can be. "Ah," she starts, then realizes what day it is and adds, "But it's Sunday. That's your day off."

The phone vibrates again and Ben sighs. "Not today, it isn't."

Anger wells in her chest on his behalf. How dare his employer make such demands of his time? "What's so important your boss is texting you before breakfast?"

Ben leans against the conference table. "There's a skiing event. Snoke wants me there to promote our newest satellite location. It's an all-day thing, and I need to get on the road soon."

"Oh." Disappointment settles on her shoulders like snow. What had she been expecting? To spend the day with him? Rey turns away from Ben, chewing the inside of her cheek and busying herself with folding the two blankets even though room service will be in to take them away. Casually, she asks, "Are the roads safe?"

Ben makes a sound that's half-hum, half-cough. "The news said crews were out overnight. The highways are salted. Side roads are still iffy. Rey?"

She straightens up from her task, but her interest remains in the pieces of pilled fleece. She plucks them from the blankets one by one. "Hmm?"

"Would you--would you like to come?" When she glances over her shoulder, he hurries to add, "I'll be busy most of the day, but maybe. . .maybe we could have dinner? Are you busy? I don't want to take up your day off."

With each stammering sentence, the butterflies in Rey's stomach go more and more spastic. It sounds like he's asking her on a date, a real one. He was all over the place this morning -- first treating her like he was upset with her, and now asking her to travel to a ski slope for the day. The idea of spending time with him, even if it only amounts to dinner, is inordinately appealing. She's enjoyed the moments they've dug out for each other the past week. A whole day sounds wonderful.

"As friends, of course."

It's a sucker-punch she isn't prepared to stomach. Her head drops quickly, eyes refocusing on the tiny fleece pills. _You're an idiot, Rey,_ she thinks. _Nothing’s changed. Ben doesn't see you like that._ After all, as she recalls, he'd hardly looked at her last night when she was half naked and lying beside him. _He's not into you that way._

Still, a trip to Seven Springs wasn't something she wanted to miss. It sounded like a nice, relaxing day after the laborious one she'd just had.

Rey hears movement behind her and abruptly spins around, afraid she'll miss her chance to agree. Her arms smack against his chest mid-turn and she grips his coat's lapels to keep from tipping over in her surprise.

"Sorry," she apologizes. "Yes. I'd love to go. As. . .friends." She struggles with the last word, but covers her uncertainty with a smile.

He leans in, hand groping behind her to retrieve her parka from the bed. Even without showering this morning, he smells amazing. Rey bites her bottom lip hard to keep from moaning, or worse, letting her mouth skim the exposed side of his throat.

Ben rests the parka on her shoulders, tugging it closed across her chest. "Let's hit the road."

 

* * *

 

Road conditions are greatly improved from the previous evening, but there’s still enough slush on the road that Ben exercises extra caution as he drives. He keeps the radio off and both hands on the wheel. It's not that he doubts his own driving skills, but those of the cars and trucks around him.

Rey dozes in the passenger seat for the first hour of the trip, works on perfecting a braid which wraps around her head like a crown during the second hour, and stares out at the snowy fields and hills for the last half hour. Each time she sees a cow or horse, she emits a delighted noise in the back of her throat that makes Ben's eyes crinkle.

He drives up to the main lodge. There are already dozens of people milling around, some carrying skis or snowboards, others bundled up and on their way to the half dozen restaurants and cafes the resort boasts. Some make a beeline for the the spa building.

"I'll see you for dinner?" Rey asks as she gets ready to exit the car. Her eyes flick over his coat and she abandons the handle, making a tsking sound as her hands reach for him instead. She grabs hold of his scarf and slides it from where it rests. “Honestly, Ben, this isn't the place for a fashion statement."

"It _is_ part of my job," he responds, leaning closer so she can loop the tan, checkered scarf over his head the way she wants. She tucks the ends into the V of his coat's front, then sweeps her fingers under his jaw and back, lifting his hair free of the fabric. Ben holds his breath through the entire process, caught by the casual intimacy.

A satisfied smile paints her lips. "There. I don't want you to come back to me frozen."

"You got it, sweetheart."

They both freeze. Ben has one hand on the steering wheel; it tightens against the leather as Rey blinks at him. The endearment slipped out without him thinking about it at all, but Ben is more panicked about the lack of alarm he sees on her face than anything else. Shouldn't she be laughing at him? Oh, silly Ben, calling his neighbor “sweetheart.”

But there's no emotion on her face, unless the blank stare is meant to connote shock. Her eyes cast away from him and through the windshield. Finally, she mumbles "Stay warm" and gets out of the coupe.

He watches her enter the lodge through the main entrance, wringing the steering wheel until it squeaks in protest. How many screw-ups is she going to give him on this being "friends" thing before she rescinds the offer and they go back to being near-perfect strangers?

He sighs, the weariness of not sleeping well and driving a fair distance finally hitting him. However presentable and engaging Snoke typically demands he be, Ben doesn't have much energy to devote to his job today.

Ben goes through the motions on the slopes, chatting with people in between announcing skiers and reading out Hux's pre-written messages over the PA system to let the public know First Order Fitness co-sponsored the big event. By two o'clock he has a god-awful headache and his fingers and toes have gone tingly despite their coverings. The one part of him that isn't cold is his throat, protected by the bulky knot Rey made of his half-grand Burberry scarf.

The event ends two hours later, just before the sun begins to set and the slopes are illuminated with spotlights. The day skiers and many of the competitors disperse, stopping now and then to shake his hand or say goodbye, assuring Ben they'll check out the fitness center he mentioned. With his duties finished and his head pounding, Ben drives back to the main lodge, sending a quick text to Rey to say he’s on his way.

Rey meets him in the main lobby, a bag with Styrofoam containers in hand. Her smile is more a of an apologetic cringe as she reports, "I checked soon after we got here: there were no reservations left for the restaurants because of the event. I hope takeaway is okay? I know it's not the dinner you might have imagined."

At this point, he's happy for any kind of sustenance. "It's okay," he confirms. "Any chance there's some Advil in that bag too?"

Rey frowns, her eyes darting back and forth across his face as if she can determine what's wrong with him that way. And maybe she can, because she says, "You look like shit."

Even his smile is tired. "It's been a long day."

Rey takes him by the hand and leads him over to a more secluded area with various couches and coffee tables. "The soup should still be warm. You start on that. I'll be right back."

Ben doesn't have the energy to argue she should stay here, with him, and eat the soup together. Or, better yet, pull her onto the couch, call her his sweetheart again, and kiss her. He closes his eyes and groans through that fantasy, dislodging it before she comes back and he's truly tempted to follow through.

On her return approach, Rey tosses a slim cylinder which he catches it midair. It's a travel-size bottle of Tylenol. He smiles again. "Thanks."

As they eat, Rey tells him about her day people-watching inside the resort. Apparently, she hadn’t stepped foot outside all day, still recovering from her arduous airport duty deicing planes. Ben can't blame her. There's a lingering chill in his own bones that makes him want to curl up in front of the lobby's fireplace and fall asleep.

Rey checks her phone intermittently throughout their dinner, until Ben has to ask: "Have somewhere to be?" They do have a long drive home, but Rey hadn't mentioned anything about having to return at a certain time.

"Yes, actually," she says. "We both do. I made a reservation."

Puzzled, his brows draw together. "I thought you said there weren't any?"

A conspiratorial grin spreads across her face, except Ben is decidedly out of the loop on whatever she has up her sleeve. There's mischief in her eyes that grips his gut in a way that heats him through. Rey's tongue smooths over her bottom lip, then she says, "I told you there were no restaurant reservations. I _did_ manage to snag us an hour for the hot tub though."

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, his bare, chilled toes dip into one hundred degree water, and Ben can't fight the shiver of delight running from the base of his skull to the tip of his tailbone. "I'm glad you talked me into this," he says, sinking further into the hot water and sitting on the submerged bench.

To be fair, he didn't fight her much. His biggest concern was their lack of bathing suits, but in the pool area’s gentle accent lighting, their underwear function just as well. Since the pool officially closed after six o'clock, there aren't many people around to judge them on their attire anyway. Ben doesn't relish the idea of driving home sans underwear, but knowing Rey will also be going commando did funny things to insides -- namely, set them on fire.

Rey sighs, settling down across from him, quickly submerging herself all the way to her collarbone. "Brilliant," she murmurs with a soft smile.

"We should have done this at the hotel last night," Ben muses.

Rey hums in agreement. "I probably would’ve drowned. I was exhausted. The cold zaps my energy levels. Too much shivering."

Ben pushes. "It would have been more enjoyable than squeezing onto a cot."

Rey gives him a look that reads, _Really, you want to talk about this now?_ Her fingers skim over the water’s rippling surface, then disappear to find one of the jet streams. Her fidgeting hands give him time to prepare for whatever she's going to say -- it's a tell of hers he's picked up on. She can't leave things alone when she's nervous.

"I quite enjoyed last night," she counters softly, almost shyly. Her eyes rise to meet his. "You warmed me up."

If his ears are noticeably red, he can blame it on the hot water. He tries to wave away the importance of his role in any heat transference. "You'd have thawed on your own. I only accelerated the process."

"Ben."

His name falls from her lips in a subdued warning, like she doesn't want him to downplay what happened at the hotel, like she doesn't want him to forget what passed between them. How could he though? How could he forget the shadowed outline of her body or the way she fit so perfectly against him? How could he forget the way she mumbled "not tonight" in a tone both drowsy and full of promise?

"I liked it too," he confesses.

The smile on her face is slight, mysterious. Was that what she wanted to hear from him?

Rey inclines her head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, staring out into the night. The hot tub is perfectly positioned -- no doubt, by design -- for bathers to look out upon the crisp, snowy slopes. From here, they can just make out the crest of the hills, the scene like something from an artist's picturesque landscapes; it doesn't look real. Rey takes it all in as she did with the livestock they saw on their earlier drive: her lips curled in a wide grin, eyes starry.

"Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"

Ben breathes deeply, considering her question. Seven Springs is a nice weekend getaway destination, but he wouldn't call it the most beautiful place in the world. Thanks to family and university trips, Ben has seen the impressive Alps and the snow-capped Rockies. A dozen other places come to mind that are better than here.

Then his gaze shifts, falling on Rey and her awed eyes, flushed cheeks, and haphazard bun that can never quite seem to keep her hair confined. Has he seen anything more beautiful, she asked?

"No," he whispers. "No, I haven't."


	10. Ice Skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gives these two a push.

 

* * *

 

Rey tightens the buckles on her skates until her ankles feel secure, then pulls her mittens on and stands, suddenly three inches taller. Beside her, Rose waits, hands on her hips and looking at her expectantly.

"What?" Rey asks, trying to sound casual.

" _What_?" Rose parrots in an exaggerated tone. "Rey, you just told me the mayor's son has the hots for you. Don't 'what' me."

Rey huffs, shaking her head as they file into line to enter the rink at PPG Place. After another day with poor insulation at the airport -- though she’d worked exclusively in the maintenance hangar -- Rey would rather have gone to the indoor ice rink on Neville Island, but the downtown spot was leagues closer for both of them.

Lowering her voice, keeping the few pre-teens and families out on this Monday evening from overhearing her business, Rey hisses back, "That’s not what I said, Rose."

A gloved finger jabs into Rey's side through her pea-coat. "You said he tried to kiss you at Phipps."

"I said it _looked_ like he _might._ "

"And that he talked about undressing you with his eyes."

"I put that into his head. Doesn't count."

"He's seen you half-naked on two occasions!"

"And not done anything about it," Rey counters, a little crestfallen at the reminder. "He didn't feel me up or make suggestive comments. He didn't try to take advantage."

"Did you want him to?" Rose asks, effortlessly slipping her skates onto the ice and curving her foot so she can turn and stare at Rey, waiting for a direct response.

Rey’s friend is sometimes just too good at reading her. She never should have told her about her insanely attractive neighbor or all the time they've been spending together. She _definitely_ shouldn't have told Rose about spending the night at the Airport Hyatt and how they were forced to share a cot. Since this morning when she spilled the beans, Rose has done nothing but bug Rey for details. She should have kept her lips sealed.

But then who would help her sort out the mess of feelings she has for Ben Solo?

Rey, less steady on her skates, takes a moment to find her balance on the ice. Once she's adjusted to the slick surface, she pushes forward and past her friend, muttering, "That's beside the point. If he were interested, Rose, he would have done something by now."

Rose smoothly breezes beyond her, circles her, and grips her coat from behind. She leans in, teasing, "Maybe he just needs a little. . .push."

As soon as she suggests it, Rey feels herself pitch forward. Rose keeps hold of her coat, reeling her back before she can fall, though the shove does compromise Rey’s balance for several seconds. The women scrabble together, Rey's skates nearly slipping out from under her and Rose using her impressive strength to keep Rey upright. All they while, they laugh and snort into the air around them, their voices joining in the merriment of the other skaters.

Together, they go around and around the circular rink. Rey keeps glancing at the enormous Christmas tree located in the center, decked with garland as thick as her torso and ornaments as big as her head. There are lights on the branches, but the main illumination comes from the PPG skyscraper at her back. It's a beautiful tree, but also a reminder she has yet to purchase one for her own apartment and the month is already a third over.

Rey attempts to plan her ideal tree so she can keep her mind from wandering to other topics, like what Ben is up to tonight.

After they'd driven home from the ski resort and said goodbye, Rey hadn't heard from him. Not a single text. She convinced herself not to send one first, arguing that he had to be busy at work; it was Monday, after all. Besides, they couldn't spend _all_ of their time together. That's what couples did, not neighbors, not friends. Even meeting Rose after work for skating was a treat, not a common occurrence.

All the rationale in the world, however, can’t keep Rey from hurting. Despite all of her attempts to think of him otherwise, Rey found the idea of Ben as a romantic partner more and more appealing.

She wants to know what it would feel like to card her fingers through his silky hair and how overwhelmed her lips would be under his own. She wants to measure his hands against her body to see how much of her his massive paws can hide. She wants more of what she'd felt pressed against her ass at the hotel, or what she thought she had.

She wants _him._

On their next lap around, Rey loops her arm through Rose’s. "What kind of push?"

Rose doesn't attempt to stifle the shit-eating grin that breaks across her face. She doesn't miss a beat even though they ended that particular conversation nearly a hour ago. Sticking out her hand, she says, "Give me your phone."

 

* * *

 

Ben's eyes burn from staring at the computer screen for hours on end in the failing light. He hasn't broken his concentration even to get up and turn on the overhead lights, telling himself if he focuses just a little more, he'll be finished with the Bridgeville proposal and can go home for the night. Except the more he rereads what he's written and splices in what Armitage and Phasma have contributed, the more mired he becomes in editing and smoothing out the language, rewriting entire pages to make it sound cohesive.

Snoke gave him hell about the ski resort as soon as he'd stepped foot into work that morning.

_"My contacts at the lodge say you seemed distracted. Exhausted. You weren't at your peak. Why is that?”_

_“I had to help a friend. I didn't get much sleep Saturday night.”_

_“The same ‘friend’ who pulled you from our meeting last week?”_

_Ben couldn't lie. Snoke would see right through him if he did. Even though it was none of his employer's business, he confirmed. "Yes."_

_“Strike the girl from your thoughts, Solo. She's undermining your dedication to your position.”_

How Snoke knew the friend he spoke of was female, he didn't know, but his boss was an astute individual. He didn't like nonsense, and he didn't like his employees being too tired or unprepared to fulfill a job. Ben had to tread carefully or he'd be replaced, possibly with Hux or Phasma, since they seemed to garner more favor with Snoke than he did as of late.

Still, Snoke's warning hadn't helped Ben forget about Rey. He'd tried to focus on his work but kept finding himself staring blankly at the computer screen, zoned out on the blinking cursor. What was she doing while he toiled into the night? Mondays weren't fun for her, Rey had mentioned. He hopes she’s sitting snug in her apartment, perhaps with a cup of cocoa and a cookie in hand on the couch.

The domestic image of her lounging in her pajamas, as if waiting for him to come home -- a ridiculous idea, if he ever had one -- vanishes the moment his phone rattles on the desk top.

His lock screen announces the message is from Rey. There's a video. Immediately, he opens it and rolls his eyes as he waits for the spinning circle to load the file.

It appears the scene he imagined isn't anywhere close to reality. The camera tracks Rey as she skates around the ice rink at PPG Place, cautiously weaving in and out of others, her arms half-raised to help herself balance. As soon as she disappears behind the giant tree, the camera flips and another young woman's face pops up on the screen at an odd angle. She pulls a scarf away from her mouth so she can speak. Her middle and index finger hover in front of her eyes before turning toward the camera, message clear: _I'm watching you._

"Listen up, Bud. If you hurt my friend you'll hear from me: Rose Tico. Is it really so hard to text a girl after you sleep with--"

"Rose! No!" Rey's voice is a distant shout, and the video cuts out a moment later.

Rose must have hit send before Rey could wrestle the phone away and stop her. He isn't sure whether that makes Rose Tico a good friend or a bad one as he sits, perplexed, about why she said what she did.

Clearly, Rey had told her about the hotel. Had Rey been discussing him? To what end? And what was this about Rey feeling hurt? Sure, Rose hadn't said it in those exact terms, but that was the implication they left behind. Something he'd done, or failed to do, had caused Rey pain.

Puzzling over the appropriate reply, he taps out a simple message.

 

_Looks fun. Wish I was there._

_No worries. You're busy._

  
He doesn't want to be busy. He really doesn't. If there were any way he could blow off his responsibilities and spend more time with Rey, he would. But that isn’t how the world works. They are both adults. At times, fun had to wait.

 

_Sorry about Rose._

 

He's not, he decides.

_I like her.  
_ 

There's a beat where he thinks about putting the phone down, but his fingers dash off a message before his brain can interfere.

 

_Dinner tomorrow? Your choice._

 

He receives a response that has a muscled arm next to the name of a well-known bar.

 

_Primanti's._

 

Ben laughs. He really is going to have to show her the food pyramid one of these days.


	11. Snow Fort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben learns about Rey's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter does start out with some angst. Can't lie. But I _promise_ it ends on a fun note. Things are beginning to heat up.

 

* * *

 

Tucked in the corner of a building on 18th and Smallman, Primanti Brother's looks like the dive bar to end all dive bars. It's cramped and, with the constant in-and-out traffic, cold enough that it's best to eat with one's coat on. There's a running mural of Pittsburgh's famous personalities, most of them sports figures, painted along the walls, some sporting signatures.

After putting in their order at the bar -- waiters don't exist in this tiny eatery, just the cook and the bartender -- Ben walks back with a couple of Yuenglings and waits for Rey to move her gym bag from the aluminum chair next to her.

"The vultures descended while you were away," she whispers, nodding at a pair of old men sporting their Black and Gold in honor of the Penguins' hockey game on the television above the bar. "I had to lay claim before we lost them all."

Instead of scooting the chair to the opposite side of the table, Ben takes a seat next to her. The bulk of their jackets and the short table make it a tight squeeze, but Rey doesn't complain. She takes the beer bottle from him, taps the butt against his, and mumbles a quiet "cheers."

They sip at their drinks, watching the game with mild interest and talking about work. Rey startles when the bar's patrons shout and high-five each other over a goal, muttering about Americans and their sporting habits. "It's not like it's football," she goes on.

He hushes her, stroking the sleeve of her coat with his fingertips. He grins at her, teasing. "Talk like that will lead to a mutiny in here."

The truth is, for as long as he has lived in the city, he's never felt a true attachment to any team. Ben had been raised to value academic excellence and personal fitness, not the success of a team. When his mother's mayoral duties required her to act the part, she blessed the city's parades and celebrations with all the requisite enthusiasm, but Ben knew her better. She'd rather watch reruns of _Law and Order_ than have anything to do with sports.

Their food arrives and Ben unwraps the paper to reveal a sandwich larger than his hand. Its considerable height comes from layers of roast beef, melted provolone, coleslaw, a full serving of french fries, and sliced tomatoes stacked between two inch-thick slabs of bread. It's massive and probably a heart attack on a plate -- but undeniably delicious.

"Glad we're splitting it," Rey says. "I can never finish one of these things."

"That's for the best, I'm sure," Ben replies, sliding her portion over. Their earlier trip to the gym that night helps assuage the guilt he should feel about consuming this monstrosity.

Rey takes a bite, moaning with delight. "Beats pub food, I can give it that."

Since meeting her, Rey has said very little about her background. He doesn't know what led her from the United Kingdom to this corner of the States, and Ben can't put aside the curiosity any longer. "Tell me more."

"About?" Rey hums out around another mouthful.

"You. Your childhood. How you got here. Why you stayed. Any of it. All of it."

Rey's chewing slows as if she can stall the conversation. Her tongue darts over her teeth and she reaches for her beer, taking a long pull. Ben doesn't want to back down, though he gets the sudden feeling he's made her uncomfortable.

"Rey--" he starts.

"I came here for secondary school. High school," she explains, her eyes floating up to the television screen, though they aren't truly focused on what she sees there. "I moved in with my cousin, but she's so old I call her Gran."

_Cousin?_ he thinks. "What about your parents?"

"They died." The revelation is succinct and spoken matter-of-factly. She takes a deep breath, then another draw of her beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I was six when it happened. Drunk driving accident. They were the drunks. Alcoholics," she spits out, "the both of them, as I came to learn. They nearly killed me in the process."

His eyebrows inch toward his hairline. "You were in the car?"

She nods. "The backseat. But I got out okay. Just a scratch." She touches the indentation on her right cheek. "And I stayed with family. Bounced around a lot to different family all across the country, then finally landed in Chicago with Gran."

Ben swirls the last of his beer inside his bottle. "Shit, Rey," he remarks quietly. "I'm sorry you went through that."

The Penguins score another goal and the bar erupts with joyous cries, though their corner remains subdued. Ben doesn't know what to say. While he didn't grow up in a fully-functional household -- it was near impossible with his father flying across the world every week and his mother building her political network -- at least both of his parents were around. They even found a way to be at his high school graduation, in the same place for a full day, just for him. Rey never had that, he realizes.

Finally, she goes on. "I don't really remember them. I was so young."

One hand lowers to the table. He inches it closer and closer to hers until it smooths across the back, enveloping her hand and squeezing. From underneath, Rey flips her hand palm up, lacing her fingers through his and squeezing back. After a moment, Ben makes the only offer that feels appropriate. "I'll get us another round."

It ends up being three more rounds. Each time Ben returns, he passes off the new bottle, takes his seat, and holds her hand.

 

* * *

 

Rey keeps talking. Once she's opened up about her parents, she can't seem to stop herself. She describes how she stumbled onto her career path by way of a junkyard owner named Jyn, whose husband Cassian had connections at Midway. She talks about how she wanted to see more of the world and transferred to Pittsburgh International after a year in Chicago. For a while, she goes on about Rose and Finn and the other people she's met who have made her feel like she has a family even though she doesn't.

It's liberating to let it all flow from her, aided by the cold beer making her tongue increasingly less reluctant to share. Rey wants Ben to know these things about her. And he listens with somber, serious eyes that make her feel like she's the only person in this crowded bar, like she's the only person in the world who matters.

By her fourth beer, Rey's head is buried against his shoulder, the rough wool scratching her cheek in a pleasing way; it grounds her and gives her the shield she needs to reveal her biggest vulnerability. Though she has her friends and colleagues, though Qi'ra is only a phone call away, it isn't enough. "I don't want to be alone."

A large, warm hand -- the one not interlaced with her own beneath the table -- cups the side of her face, tilting her chin until she meets his eyes. Hers swim with unshed tears, blurring Ben's face into a mix of dark hair and pale skin. "You're not alone."

"Neither are you." The words don't come from Ben, but from one of the older sports fans returning the borrowed chair. The salt-and-pepper haired man eyes her with something like sympathy, leaving Rey to wonder just how loudly she spoke while she droned on and on about her life. The kind eyes turn meaningfully to Ben. "Get her home safe, you hear?"

"Yes, sir," Ben agrees, snaking an arm beneath Rey to do just that. With the semblance of privacy shattered, Rey concurs it’s probably time they start the trek home and allows Ben to heft her to her feet.

They shuffle out into the snowy evening. Large, wet flakes have been falling since she got home from work, and their feet crunch on the sidewalks as they begin the journey home to the Cork Factory Lofts. It's typically a brisk ten-minute walk, but they drag along at a slower pace. Ben keeps his hand against her back the entire time, and Rey is grateful to have the extra support, both physically and emotionally.

"I didn't mean to unload all of that on you," she apologizes. "Even for all that happened with my parents, I was happy. Gran looked after me, loved me. I was happy."

He continues looking straight ahead, asking, "But are you happy now?"

How does she answer a question like that? Is he asking generally, since she came to live in Pittsburgh? Or is he talking about right now, this very moment, walking beside him? In either case, Rey finds herself saying, "I am."

He looks down at her, questioning the sincerity of her response, his eyes intense and serious again.

_Too serious,_ Rey thinks. She doesn't want to dwell on the past and how she feels. She just wants to enjoy the moment. Smiling slyly, she asks, "Know what would make me even happier?"

"What?"

She skims a strip of snow off the nearest vehicle, balling it loosely in her mittened hand. Sensing her intention, Ben starts to pull away. Rey just manages to smush a wad of white onto his coat before he escapes, throat wheezing with a laugh.

"Rey!" He sounds offended by the antics, though she watches him bend and sweep together a pile of snow with his gloved hands, crafting it into a much sturdier ball.

Rey runs forward, feet unsteady from the slick sidewalk and the beer running through her system. She shrieks with laughter, dodging the first ball he throws and scrambling to collect enough snow to lob another at him.

Ben chases after her, hardly giving her the chance.

She keeps ahead of him for almost a whole block before he pulls on the tail of her coat with one hand and sends her spinning around to face him, wrapping her up with a single arm. The display of his strength leaves her absolutely breathless. Squirm as she may, she can't get free. Rey isn't sure she wants to.

Keeping his hold on her, he backs her up until her legs collide with something and she looks down. It's a pile of snow across the street from their apartment complex, but it appears to have been shaped and molded by human hands instead of a passing plow. The kids who reside in their building must have built the snow fort for an earlier snowball fight, never imagining it would be adults who would have the last turn of fun.

Ben breathes heavily above her, holding a massive snowball aloft. Rey waves her hands, huffing out a series of "nos" when she can manage. "Don't," she says. "I surrender. I surrender."

She doesn't, of course. Not really. She just needs time to come up with a plan.

Ben's eyes twinkle in the moonlight. His head tilts down, nose and mouth rooting through her hair to find her ear as he did at the conservatory. It sent shivers down her spine then; now, her body explodes with a flash of heat. "No mercy," he whispers.

As soon as he says it, he lets her go and she falls against the snow fort. In a flash, his hand is reaching for the neckline of her sweater, stretching it forward and dumping the clump of snow straight down her top.

"Ben!" Rey squeals, immediately trying to free the trapped ice before it can cool her skin too much. She's distracted by Ben's laughter and knows something has to be done. She can't let him win.

Pulling off a chunk of the fort, she lunges, her hand aiming for any part of his clothes she can get under. They end up breaching his jacket at the waist and reaching for his jeans. He jerks back violently, his feet losing traction. Rey, with her hand caught between skin and waistline, topples forward as he falls.

Another patch of snow breaks Ben's descent. Rey's cushion is Ben's chest. He lets out a short "umph" as she lands on him, hand still stuck in his clothes. Leaning over his face, her hair curtains around him as she breathes, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he responds, though it sounds like he's got something in his throat. He clears it. "Yeah. I'm fine."

She smiles, a hint of mischief coming back into her eyes. "Good." Sparing him no quarter, she plunges the hunk of snow into his pants. His body thrashes once, twice, bucking like a mechanical bull beneath her, but Rey's weight won't let him up. She squeezes her legs tighter around him, pinning him down. Finally, he gives up, going stock-still.

Her torso sways, head looking up at the moon and the stars -- their only audience. "I win," she tells them, then pokes Ben's chest with her mitten, a triumphant smile on her face. "I win."

One of his hands reaches up, the leather of his glove smoothing over her cheek as he cups her face. Rey may just be imagining it, but she thinks he rubs it over the scar from her accident. "It's good to see you smile."

Caught off guard by the comment, she doesn't expect his hips to shift and tilt, effectively rolling her onto her back and pressing her into the snow. Rey can't hold in a delighted laugh as she finds their positions reversed. Ben quickly retrieves the remaining hunk of snow from his jeans; it crumbles to pieces in his hand.

Rey giggles. "I win?"

Bracing himself in the space above her shoulders, Ben leans down and presses his lips to the middle of her forehead, just beneath her hairline. Rey's eyes flutter shut, adrenaline or something else, something _more,_ kicking her heart into overdrive.

"You win," he agrees.


	12. Family Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As all good parents do, Leia embarrasses Ben in front of his "girlfriend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright peeps, the time has come for things to get naughty. Maybe not in the way you're thinking and hoping for. . .yet. But things are definitely heating up. If you're reading this and uncomfortable with smut, now would be a good time to back out. It's gonna get even more intense in later chapters.
> 
> Anyway, for all of you who have been flailing over the slow burn. . .I'm sorry. (Or am I?) Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Ben can't sleep. He stares at the ceiling until the numbers on his alarm clock blur together, unable to close out the memory of Rey in the snow, trapped beneath him and flushed from their beer-fueled childish antics. His cheeks heat remembering how she pinned him to the ground with that wide, victorious smile on her face.

Shit, she was beautiful. It didn't matter if she was wearing a party dress or yoga pants or a silly Christmas apron. She could be swaddled in layers of fabric, and still the image of her stepping into the hot tub at Seven Springs -- her skin toned and more tan than it had any right to be in the middle of December -- blazed before his eyes.

He finally dozes and dreams fevered dreams. His tongue thirsts for her skin; his hands ache for her hips, her breasts. He snaps awake again just as he’s easing into her, groaning with unmet need. Now awake, he pictures her in his mind's eye. The more he does, the more his body responds. It's normal for Ben to wake up half-erect, but this morning he's dealing with a full hard-on begging for attention.

It's just. . .does he get off thinking about his neighbor? Would it be wrong?

At this point, it hardly matters. It's not like Rey is going to find out. And it's still too early for him to get out of bed and start his day. A little self-stimulation might even rid himself of the desire to touch her.

Yeah. Right. Sure.

Ben throws his left arm over his eyes and groans again as he reaches his right hand down to grasp himself and pull his cock from the confines of his boxers. He squeezes and strokes while his teeth glide back and forth against his lower lip. He sees her hair dusting her shoulders, hears her gasp as he corners her against the snow fort.

He swallows hard, mouth falling open to pant as his hand continues to drag across his sensitized skin, imagining that it's hers -- the one she'd reached behind her at the airport hotel to touch his hip. _Not tonight, m'kay,_ she'd said.

_But what about today?_ he thinks. _What about now?_

Ben’s hips cant, lifting slightly off of the mattress as he begins thrusting into his own hand. He can't stop now. He's so close.

A knock against his wall makes him freeze mid-motion. There's another a few seconds later. And another. Rey's bedroom, if her apartment mirrors his, is on the other side of his wall. What is she doing up so early?

The knocks increase in speed, and desire shoots straight to his groin. He knows _exactly_ what she's doing.

He loses count of how many times her headboard taps against the wall, but he keeps pace with with her. His hand pumps his cock, matching the noises while picturing her touching herself, fingers curled into her sex, moving in and out.

Growing up, he’d learned to come quietly. So, when he tips over the edge and shatters, it's with a series of breathless grunts. Rey doesn't hold back. He hears a high-pitched cry, though the wall muffles it somewhat.

In his bliss-addled mind, he imagines he hears his name.

He drifts back to sleep, snoozing until his backup alarm informs him if he waits any longer to rise, he'll regret it. Clicking off the obnoxious chiming he couldn't sleep through if he tried, Ben notices he has a message on his phone. His heart races, thinking it has to be from Rey. Did she hear him like he had her? Would she be bold enough to acknowledge it?

As it turns out, it's his mother texting him just after dawn.

 

_Making your favorite tonight. Can't wait to see you. Bring Rey._

 

It's a casual reminder as much as an order, and Ben needed it. He'd forgotten all about the family dinner he'd scheduled with his parents. Because they had an event to attend for the city on Christmas Eve, Leia had asked to have a family gathering earlier in the month. Ben feels ashamed to have let it slip his mind. Despite being bogged down with work and trying to figure out what to do about his growing feelings for his neighbor, Ben wants to make sure his mother is happy too. He is, as his father always jokes, a "mama's boy" at heart.

To please his mother this year, it seems he will need to show up with Rey in tow. Before he can forget, he taps out a string of messages:

 

_Dinner tonight? At 7?_  
_At my parents' house._  
_My mother is making prime rib._

 

Not a full moment later, he receives a response.

 

_You're up early. . ._

 

His head swings to the wall, and he can almost see her sprawled on her mattress without a stitch of clothing, phone in hand. The ellipsis on her message intrigues him. Is she indicating she expected him to be asleep? That, perhaps, if she had known he was awake, she wouldn't have been so vocal in her self-care?

Only one thing comes to mind as a reply.

 

_So are you._

 

He waits a full two minutes to see if she has anything else to say, but when nothing pops up on his screen, Ben decides to busy himself with getting ready. If she wants to join him for dinner, she'll let him know.

Sure enough, as he's grabbing his keys to head out the door, his phone vibrates.

 

_What do I wear?_

 

* * *

 

Uncle Charles -- who immediately insists on being called "Chewie" -- dwarfs even the likes of Ben. His long, shaggy hair falls across his eyes and scuffs against the collar of his plaid shirt. His attire is a far cry from the more formal suit jackets Ben and his father are wearing or Leia's dress. It’s clear Ben's “uncle” is the odd thumb at the dinner table.

Rey warms to him immediately. Especially when he rattles off stories as they eat, ones which involve incredible, almost unbelievable, aviation escapades from the seventies and eighties. "Before things were so regulated," he says at the end of each tale.

Chewie tells her more about Han and how the patriarch of the family nearly got them thrown into a Ecuadorian prison over a card game gone awry. Or the time Han unknowingly -- "Knowingly, according to the prosecutor" -- brought contraband on board and stowed it in the refreshment cart. Regardless of guilt, though Chewie hints they were guilty ninety-five percent of the time, Han and his co-pilot always got away scot-free. At the head of the table, Leia rolls her eyes.

Rey hangs on every word, covering her laughter as best she can with her hand. Every so often, she and Ben exchange looks across the table, their gazes drawn to one another. A smile tweaks the corner of his mouth every time she meets his eyes. Rey returns each with a grin of her own, until one of them shyly ducks their head back into their food.

She knows her attendance is for show, that she’s supposed to be pretending. But this feels different from the way it did at the conservatory. His family has welcomed her so kindly, so warmly. Rey isn’t sure she wants to give it up, and she certainly doesn’t want them to find out this is all a lie.

_It doesn’t have to be a lie,_ a voice whispers in her ear. _This could be real. It could be yours._

But that would mean Ben was hers too, and the possibility makes her ache in more ways than one. Leia is going on about the recipe for her prime rib, but Rey’s gaze is focused just to the left of her head, zoned out. For a moment, her eyes flutter closed, thinking of the way she’d used a toy this morning to imagine what it feel like to be with Ben. Given what she encountered at the airport, she’d opted for her biggest one.

Han’s voice breaks through the cloud of her thoughts. “Rey?”

Her eyes fly open and her cheeks go scarlet. She flashes a smile of apology, shaking her head a little to gather herself. Under the table, something brushes against her ankle, and she nearly shoots out of her chair before realizing it was the toe of Ben's shoe.

“ _Sorry,_ ” she breathes, shooting a thinly disguised glare across the table. Ben’s eyes laugh at her, though his lips only give away the barest twitch. Rey could punch him. “Sorry, what were you asking?”

Her heart calms in stages as she listens to Han’s questions about her job and responds appropriately. Meanwhile, she grinds her heel onto the top of Ben’s cap toe derby until he slides it back to his side of the table.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, Leia insists on a proper tour of the house before they can leave. Although Ben’s father invites him to come to the den for a cigar, he chooses to accompany Rey and his mother instead. Rey takes the opportunity to slide her arm through his and lean her head against his shoulder.

“Lost in space earlier?” he hums, clearly still tickled.

Rey’s free hand crosses over their bodies to rest on his chest. She can’t admit to him what she was thinking about, so she comes up with something plausible. “Your mother listed a lot of ingredients.”

“‘Leia,’ my dear,” Ben’s mother calls over her shoulder. “Call me ‘Leia,’ please.”

Moving through the remaining downstairs rooms quickly, Leia leads them to the cherry wood staircase at the Sewickley home’s entryway and begins ascending. Rey lets go of Ben’s arm so they can walk up single-file.

Along the slanted wall are family photographs -- most of them focus on, or at least feature, Ben. They appear to follow some reverse chronological order, and Rey sees Ben shrink before her eyes. Leia has something to say about each one, a little comment which either makes Rey laugh or “aww” over a sweet memory.

When they get to the topmost step, Rey is greeted with a picture of Ben as a baby, smiling up from a blanket and propped on chubby little arms, bare as the day he was born.

"This is my favorite." Leia beams.

Rey glances down at Ben. His fingers are pinching the bridge of his nose. "Mother. . .”

Not paying her son any mind, Leia rubs her fingers against the glass with affection. "Look at that precious little tukas."

" _Mother._ "

There's a note of mortification in his voice that almost makes Rey take pity on him. Almost. Instead, she leans forward to examine the picture more closely, smiling at the goofy, toothless grin and giant ears staring back at her.

"He had an adorable bum," Rey agrees, sliding a teasing sideways smile at Ben. She’s not sure she’s ever seen his face this red.

"You just have to watch out for that mole," Leia continues.

"Mole?" Rey asks.

Leia's brow knits together. "Sure. You’ve seen it.” She points it out on the picture. Sure enough, there is a tiny brown dot beneath her index finger. “Right there on the hump.”

Rey’s own cheeks flame over Leia’s assumption she’s seen her son naked. Of course, since his mother believes they’re dating, it’s only natural to think she’s discovered the tiny mark during the course of their relationship. Absently, Rey wonders what other marks and freckles she’d find if she looked closely at Ben's body.

“You keep your eye on it, Rey,” Leia continues, now wagging her finger at her son. “And tell him to take his precious heinie to the dermatologist if it starts looking strange.”

“That’s it,” Ben announces, throwing up his hands. “I’m leaving.”

Rey catches his arm before he can go, rubbing up and down his bicep as if in reassurance. It’s clear his mother is coming from a place of love, but there’s a twinkle of mischief in her eyes saying she’s trying to embarrass him in front of his supposed girlfriend too.

She can’t help but want to be a part of the fun. Ben looks so adorable when he’s flustered. “Don’t worry,” she tells Leia before returning her gaze to Ben and smiling. “I’ll make sure it gets a thorough inspection.”


	13. Gingerbread Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet exchange while baking cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. We. GO.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday evening, Ben discovers that, once she has an idea in her head, Rey is too stubborn to let it go. He watches her zip around the kitchen, shuffling cookie sheets, utensils, baking ingredients, and various bowls from surface to surface. It’s a dance of sorts -- one he missed on the morning they met -- and Ben stands on the opposite side of the counter, mesmerized even though he offered to be her baking apprentice.

The window above the kitchen sink is fogged over, the space already warm from the pre-heated oven. Rey shed her sweater shortly after he joined her, and her underlying camisole left little to the imagination. Ben is genuinely grateful when she dons a new Christmas apron, tying it around her waist and neck. Without it, he’s not sure he’d be much help in preparing the thank you treats Rey has insisted on making his mother. He’d much rather spend his time slipping the thin straps from her shoulders and replacing them with kisses.

Somehow, Ben manages to focus until the dough is finished and rolled out on the counter in a near-perfect rectangle. Impressed with her skill, he asks, “You make these often?”

She shrugs. “Not really. Gran and I made them every year for her fencing club.”

“Fencing club?” Ben crosses his arms over his chest, grinning. “Qi’ra sounds like the kind of woman I’d like to meet.”

A laugh tickles her throat. “Maybe you will.” As if realizing the implication of her words, she’s quick to add on, “I’m trying to fly her out for the holiday.”

“I’d love to meet her,” Ben repeats, voice more serious this time. He lightens things up again by saying, “Maybe she can reveal your embarrassing beauty marks.”

Rey’s laugh rumbles from her belly, then her hand disappears from view, rummaging in the furthest corners of a kitchen drawer. Each time she withdraws it, it's with a different cookie cutter caught between her fingertips. There's one shaped like a heart, another a star. The next one she pulls out is a shamrock, and Ben is entirely convinced she will finish out the Lucky Charms set with a horseshoe and moon cutter as well.

Instead, she grunts in frustration. "Where is it?"

"All of these shapes will work," he assures her.

"They’re supposed to be people shaped," she fires back. "I know the gingerbread man is in here somewhere." After a few more minutes of fruitless searching, she heaves a sigh. "Maybe I left him in Chicago."

He braces his hands on the kitchen island, hovering over the perfectly flat, cinnamon-brown dough. “Are their shapes truly important to you?"

Rey's eyes flutter down to the green pleats lining the edge of her apron. Her fingers focus on one fold and run along the crease. Her voice drops too, as if embarrassed to answer him. "They don't taste the same if they aren't people."

Of course, her argument doesn't make any logical sense. All of the cookies are coming from the same dough. Regardless of shape, they will taste exactly alike. But if she wants people, Ben will do his best to humor her. While she plucks at her apron, Ben quickly Googles the outline of a gingerbread man.

"Don't worry. Your cannibalistic craving will be satisfied," he teases, using his hip to nudge her aside.

He carefully unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt's sleeves, rolling them until they remain secured just above his elbows. Then, selecting the paring knife from the wooden block on the counter, he stares down at the rectangle and visualizes the gingerbread man from his phone. Keeping his hand as steady as possible -- an easy task, typically, when he's practicing calligraphy -- Ben traces the point through the unbaked dough, carving out a plump figure with a head, body, and a pair each of arms and legs.

"Bloody unreal," Rey swears. "How are you so good at free-handing? Are you secretly an artist?"

Thanks to her praise, his hand shakes a little on the second outline, making one leg fatter than the other. "It's no special talent," he says quietly, attempting to concentrate on the next figure. "You just visualize what you want to happen and. . .let it happen."

She laughs at him. Ben supposes he deserves it for his philosophical response to her teasing questions. "Oh, Ben," she says, briefly touching his bare forearm when she's calmed her giggles. "Someone's been staring at too many motivational posters."

Ben's head tilts up from his work to look at her, and he promptly cuts the next ginger figure in half.

"Oh no!" Rey exclaims, hands rushing to peel the bisected figure from the flour-dusted counter top. She attempts to patch the figure’s midsection, but finds the surgery unsatisfactory -- or she must, since she quickly balls the dough together and presses it out again on the counter.

Ben watches her fingers mold and shape it, eyes widening as a familiar form appears. Red creeps up his neck. "Rey, what on earth--?"

She holds out her hand for the knife, which he passes off without further question. "Needs some detail," she explains, using the blade to cut a curved line behind the head of the gingerbread phallus. She adds a slash to the very tip -- an unmistakable slit.

Grinning over her creation, she carefully transfers it to the the baking sheet. "Perfect."

"What happened to them needing to be people-shaped?"

Her pink lips pucker with thought. "Well," she starts. " _Technically,_ it counts as person-shaped. It's just a very specific shape."

Finally, he shares in her amusement, laughing softly. "I wonder if it will taste the same?"

A knowing smirk falls from her eyes to her mouth, tugging her lips up at the corners. "We'll find out soon."

 

* * *

 

It only takes ten minutes for the first batch of gingerbread cookies to bake, but Rey insists they let them cool completely on wire racks before they decorate them. Besides, they still have to make the royal icing.

Rey gives Ben the task of cleaning up their work-space -- delighting when he actually washes the dishes instead of simply putting them in the sink for her to finish later. In the meantime, Rey gathers the ingredients for the second step in the cookie-making process.

Using her hand mixer, she beats together milk and copious amounts of powdered sugar, adding in just enough vanilla extract to give the icing a hint of flavor. It takes several minutes of mixing before all the lumps disappear and she's left with a smooth, shiny white substance that will soon become buttons and shirts on their gingerbread men.

When she's done, Rey swipes her finger along the metal beater and brings the icing to her mouth for a taste test. "That is _sweet_ ," she remarks. "Here." Using the same finger, she slides it over the edge of a different beater, then steps behind him at the sink. Her arm rests on his shoulder, hand hovering in front of his mouth, finger extended. "Taste."

His hands and forearms are still submerged in soapy water. Giving her a sideways glance that sends pricks of heat walking down her spine, he obligingly sucks the tip of her finger into his mouth. His tongue is warm and wet as it cleans the icing away.

Rey withdraws her hand, thinking it might be best to retreat. All of a sudden, the room feels too hot, and Rey knows the oven isn't responsible. The man licking his lips while he stares at her is solely to blame.

Except, instead of stepping away, she stays where she is -- practically pressed against him. Her voice is a shaky breath: "Like it?"

His front teeth scrape over his bottom lip as if to make sure he hasn't forgotten any, nodding once in confirmation. "Very sweet," he concurs. His eyes flit to her lips, narrowing slightly. "Rey, you missed some."

It's true. She feels it. Royal icing hardens when left alone, and it tugs on her skin as it begins to dry. It's a spot just left of center, sitting on her bottom lip like an invitation -- but it's not Ben's eyes Rey wants to respond.

"Oh? I did?" she asks, voice low as a purr. Her insides are in knots. Her windpipe feels as though it's collapsing in on itself with nervousness; if Ben doesn't kiss her right now, Rey thinks she might die of asphyxia. "Will you. . .help a girl out?"

Water sloshes in the sink as Ben begins to remove his hands, perhaps meaning to wipe it away. They're covered in soap -- something they both realize in tandem. Ben's gaze goes wide. Is he panicking?

Rey doesn't give him the chance. She clutches the rolled cuff of his shirt, pulling down on the fabric, both to keep his hands out of the picture and to bring his head down where she wants it.

Their first kiss is all odd angles, his shoulder perpendicular to her chest, rubbing between her breasts as Rey inches up on her tiptoes. Her brain stops and starts as contradictory sensations wrap around her: how his soft lips contrast with the solid muscles beneath her hands, how the warmth of him makes her shiver.

Ben pivots without breaking the kiss, pulling his hands from the water and turning to face her fully. Rey slumps against him, arms rising to wrap around the back of his neck. His hair brushes against her forearms and Rey indulges a fantasy she's had almost since she met him: tentatively, she slips her fingers into the lustrous black cloud, rubbing the pads of her fingers against his scalp.

With a low rumble that sounds like a groan, Ben's knees bend just enough to level out their mouths. Rey makes an approving noise as she sinks to the soles of her feet, rocking back on her heels. Her head spins, overwhelmed. A moment ago she was worried about her nerves strangling her; turns out she should have been preparing to have her breath stolen away.

His hands reach for her sides, landing just above her hips. Rey gasps at the contact, the water clinging to his hands seeping into her cotton camisole. Ben uses the opening to his advantage, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. It's teasing, the way he brushes it against hers, though all Rey can process is the pressure behind it, the strength. If his lips are temptation, his tongue is sin.

Rey slides her hands from his hair and places them on his chest. Is it his pulse she feels beating so furiously? Or is that her own blood pumping through her veins?

Reluctantly, she breaks away from his mouth, though she doesn't go far. When she speaks, their lips still brush. "Ben."

His nose bumps hers in a little sign of affection that makes her heart flutter as if it has wings, then his forehead presses to hers. He lifts his hands, pulling the saturated fabric near her hips and laughing. "Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to make you a towel."

"I know a riddle about towels," she whispers, unsure where the comment comes from. Clearly, she's still rattled.

"Oh?"

Rey blushes and almost doesn't have the ability to push the riddle out. It's so stupid. She doesn't want Ben to think she's lost all sense -- even if it feels exactly as if she has. Finally, she supplies, "What gets wetter the more it's used?"

There's a long pause. She doesn't know if Ben is humoring her and pondering the question he already knows the answer to or if he's simply preoccupied placing light kisses along the side of her jaw.

She'd rather he ignore her words entirely and just keep kissing her.

"Rey. . .it's a towel," he mumbles. One hand, practically dry now, brushes hair from her forehead and presses against it, palm cupped over her skin. "Are you feeling okay? There's an order to those things, you know? Riddle first. Answer second."

Her knuckles dig into his sternum. "Don't be a jerk," she fusses. "I can't help it if your stupid amazing mouth. . ." Red surges to her cheeks as she trails off.

“‘Amazing,’ huh?”

_Why don’t you show him your whole hand, Rey?_  she chides inwardly while watching that _stupid, amazing mouth_ curve into a panty-dropping smirk. The space between her legs throbs to life; it takes everything in her not to whimper.

“Shh.” She places a finger over his smile, touching both lips and teeth.

Distantly, she registers the smell of gingerbread and remembers the cookies in the oven. Any baker worth their weight knows the tell-tale scent of “golden brown,” knows how quickly it can turn to “trash bin brown.” She should break away from him and tend to her baking; instead, she lets her eyes slip closed, breathing in the scent of _him_. He may look like a model, but he smells like the woods.

“Rey?” he whispers against her mouth. She can see his confusion even without opening her eyes. “What are you--?”

“I’m visualizing what I want,” she tells him quietly, opening one eye and giving him a cheeky smile. She switches her index finger for her thumb, gliding it over his lower lip, tugging gently at the center. “And now I’m going to let myself have it.”

By the time the kiss is over, Rey has to scrape the last batch of gingerbread men straight from the cookie sheet into the garbage.


	14. Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben chooses an apt Christmas decoration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is maybe 30% fluff and 70% smut. That's where we're at.  
> Also, real talk, writing smut takes longer for me, so there may be no update tomorrow. The upside? I'll be off for 10 days soon. Plenty of time to write.  
> Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Sipping his coffee at the kitchen island, Ben catches himself humming along to the Christmas music streaming through the wall. He doesn’t fight it this time, only smiles. It’s only nine o’clock and already the day has been eventful. His skin flushes as he listens to her go about her morning innocently enough, though he knows she started it off with a much different activity -- one that would undoubtedly land her on Santa’s Naughty List.

He'd practically shot out of bed earlier when an unmistakable buzzing carried through the thin barrier separating their bedrooms. Though he got off to her once before, now that they've kissed, it seemed wrong. Not only that: Rey shouldn't have need for a vibrator when he was right next door. He should be the tool she uses to orgasm. While in the shower, he'd toyed briefly with the fantasy of going over there and sharing his thoughts before sweeping her off her feet and carrying her to bed.

In the end, he'd emerged from the shower, thrown on a pair of joggers, and headed for the coffee pot. Soon after, her holiday playlist blared to life, and he relaxed into his work.

As he's skimming the fitness blurbs on the Post Gazette's site, a series of short knocks has him gravitating to his front door. He opens it and finds Rey with a basketful of laundry balanced on her him, a pout on her lips. Her jaw goes slack as her eyes roam over his bare chest, her gaze never reaching beyond his neck.

"Don’t you have work?” he asks in greeting, holding on to the door while appreciating her obvious once-over.

“Hours adjustment thanks to the deicing,” she explains briefly, finally blinking. Pink tints her cheeks.

Ben leans a hip against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's hardly the first time you've seen me shirtless, Rey."

"It's a lot to wake up to," she argues as she looks away.

One of his eyebrows rises and, before he can think better of it, Ben responds, "You've been up for a while though, haven't you." It's not a question.

Her eyes dart to his, wide and panicked, while her tongue runs over her lips. "How. . .how do you know?"

"Rey." Ben fights his smirk as long as he can, but she’s so cute when she’s flustered, he can't help but tease her more. "Sweetheart, if I wrote a postcard saying I could hear you singing through the wall, what else do you think I've overheard? Hmm?"

"Oh god," she groans, squeezing her eyes tight since her only other option is to run from him. In a flash, though, her embarrassment vanishes and her eyes open. She steps forward, one finger pointed at his chest accusingly. "So you _listened_? Ben Solo, that isn't very gentlemanly."

"Have I ever claimed to be a gentleman?" he asks, capturing her hand, prying open her fist, and dropping a kiss to the palm.

She slides her hand from his grasp, not entirely done with her chastisement. "How many times? Have you been listening to me since I moved in?"

He's thought about that himself, and so when he answers, it's the truth: "No. Only twice. Once this morning. And once a few days ago. I mean, Rey, your headboard was knocking against the wall. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you had somebody over."

She groans again, adjusting the basket on her hip. "I didn't."

"Then why was your bed rocking so hard?"

Cheeks deepening in color, she suddenly changes the subject. "Look, I came to see if I could do my laundry. My machine won't work and I need clean knickers. Can I?"

"Of course.” Ben steps aside, waving her in. “Wouldn't want you to walk around with dirty knickers."

As she passes, Rey's free hand brushes over his pecs and trails down his arm as if unable to resist. A hot stone drops into his stomach over the brazen touch, and he quickly closes the door to follow after her. She has to know what she’s doing to him

The glance she casts over her shoulder confirms she does. Then she makes a face. "Dirty knick--?" She shakes her head and places the basket in front of the laundry closet. "No. I just do without them."

Ben stops mid-step, frozen by the possibility she may not be wearing any underwear at this exact moment. His eyes hone in on the curve of her ass as she bends to sort her lights, darks, and colors. There's no visible panty line, but that only sends him into a spiral of imagining her in a thong. It doesn't seem like the type of underwear she'd choose considering the instances he's seen her panties; they'd covered everything at the airport and the ski resort.

_What if she own some for special occasions?_ he thinks, still observing her repeatedly crouch and stand.

Rey notices. She pauses, arms full of the first load of washing, and blows wisps of hair away from her face. "Ben. . .why are you looking at me like that?"

He doesn't say a word, only takes a step forward, tracing the outline of her body with his eyes.

Rey shifts the clothing in her arms. "Are you--are you picturing me naked?"

"I said you would know."

She strangles the clothes to her body. "Ben. I haven't even brushed my hair today."

It does look wilder than normal. Ben likes it like this -- looking like she just rolled from bed after a good lay. He advances another step, bringing him close enough to touch her. He raises his hands and wiggles his fingers. "I could help with that."

She bumps into the washer while retreating from him. "Don't you dare, Ben Solo. You'll yank it."

"A loving tug," he counters, though his hands drop obediently.

Rey turns and stuffs the load of dark clothing into the washer cavity, mumbling something he can't make out. She reaches for her detergent jug and makes a dismayed sound. "There's barely any left."

"Use mine," he says, reaching over her to pull a green bottle from the top shelf.

Rey appears stunned by his proximity, but manages to shake her head. "Thanks, but that stuff makes me break out. I only use this brand."

He nods and puts the jug back, then places his hand on her shoulder. "Let's go get you some more."

Rey looks down at herself, as if assessing whether she can passably go out in public wearing her leggings and sweatshirt. Shrugging in approval, she excuses herself to retrieve her keys and wallet, meeting Ben in the building's lobby.

They drive to a Rite-Aid across Veterans Bridge and spend all of five minutes in the store. While Rey disappears down the laundry aisle, Ben peruses the Christmas displays taking up the front, center section. His eyes almost immediately alight on a bundle of green and white tied with a red ribbon.

It may be cheesy, but he's never kissed anyone under mistletoe before. Now seems the perfect time to find out what it's like. Instead of tracking Rey down and giving her a smooch in the store, he moves to the register and purchases the mistletoe, stuffing the bag in his coat’s pocket and saving it for when they get back to his apartment.

 

* * *

 

 

Ben does some work from home while Rey continues doing her laundry, trekking back and forth from her apartment for hangars more than once. She subjects him to Christmas music, though she takes pity on him and opts for the instrumental variety, keeping the volume low. Between loads, she makes omelets with veggies and salsa.

"You don't have any bacon," she complains.

"Have you ever heard of the term 'nutrition'?" he quips.

Rey huffs, then serves their brunch.

There are still twenty minutes left on the last load of laundry after eating, so she casually circles through his apartment. It’s the same as her own and entirely different. Rey keeps her loft filled with color and soft furnishings that she snuggles into after a long day of work. She has plants galore and tiny lights strung above her kitchen sink. The wall above her couch has picture frames full of faces and flowers. It helps to see her friends and Gran above her when she's feeling lonely.

Ben's place, though, is something else entirely. Every surface is polished to gleaming. There's no clutter to speak of, though his shelves are full of books. The frame above his couch isn't a picture of his family -- she only finds one of those, sitting on top of his mantle -- but of some abstract modern art piece with swirls of black, white, and gray that remind her of tidal pools. There isn't a single throw pillow on his leather couch, and Rey feels an overwhelming itch to buy him some obnoxiously furry pillows to soften things up.

Among the utilitarian backdrop, the snowman greeting she gifted to him the day after they met sticks out like a circus clown among mimes. It sits next to his family photograph over the fireplace. She smiles, letting her finger poke the plush figures.

"You could really use some more Christmas cheer, you know," Rey tells him. "This being your only decoration is just sad."

Ben hums from his stool across the room. "It's too late for a tree."

"Is not," she protests. "I'm going to get mine this weekend. We could pick one up for you too. . .if you come with me."

She watches as Ben gently closes his laptop, putting away his work to focus on their conversation. "I'd like that," he says. His eyes dart over to a bag he brought back from the pharmacy. "In the meantime, I do have one small decoration to add."

"Oh?" Curiosity piqued, Rey practically skips back to the counter to see what he purchased. "What is it?"

She recognizes the green arrangement as mistletoe immediately, and a fierce blush creeps over her cheeks. There's only one reason he’d have bought it: he wants to kiss her again. After burning the cookies last night, there hadn’t been may more lip-locks before they’d said goodbye.

Heart drumming with anticipation, Rey clears her throat. "Good choice."

Ben stands, opening a drawer -- even his junk drawer is neatly organized with plastic dividers -- for a thumb tack. Rey turns and leans against the counter to watch him hang the small sprigs above the hallway leading away from his common living spaces and toward his bedroom. Her chest tightens as her lungs swell.

Once he's done, Ben crooks a finger, beckoning her over. "Care to test it out, sweetheart?"

There he goes, using that endearment again. It does ridiculous things to her insides. Rey drifts over to the arch like she's floating on a cloud. What is gravity? Is she even touching the floor? When she's in front of him, she looks up, greeted by little green leaves. Ben's head mirrors hers. They tilt down at the same time, eyes meeting in a mix of brown and hazel.

Rey waits. She's pretty sure she kissed him first -- though, right now the memory has vacated her mind, ready to soak up new input; she wants him to lead this time. He was the one with the idea to buy mistletoe, so he should be the one to take advantage of it.

He doesn't disappoint. Warm, full lips descend on hers. His hands cup her face, fingers stretching along her neck and curving to press at her nape, encouraging her to incline her head and open up to him. Rey does, angling to slant her mouth over his and tease his bottom lip with her teeth.

Ben groans and leans in until her back and shoulders collide with the wall. It jars them slightly, breaking them apart for a needed breath. Ben's thumb strokes the swell of her lower lip, then replaces his finger with his mouth, sucking and making Rey's knees wobbly. She's grateful for the wall at her back and the wall of man in front of her. His solid body gives her something to cling to.

Instead of going for his hair, Rey's hands plaster themselves to his chest, fingertips digging into muscles. He runs hot even through his shirt. _Wouldn't it be best to cool him off a bit?_ she thinks. Rey slips her hands beneath the hem, tugging up meaningfully. It’s not her aim to tease him -- or herself. She wants him bare.

Ben's hands insist on the same, and she has one flash of uncertainty, one breath to push out his name like a warning -- " _Ben, I_ -" -- before her sweatshirt joins his top on the floor.

"Fuck."

She tried to warn him. She did. Rey's teeth sink into her lip as she watches his eyes travel over her body. His gaze alone is enough to make her nipples harden, and she hopes he thinks it's from the sudden change in temperature and not from the way he's staring at her with hunger in his eyes.

"It's laundry day," she explains, the color on her cheeks filtering down to bloom along her collarbone like roses on vines.

His breathing is ragged. One hand reaches for her breast, thumb flicking over her pebbled nipple. Rey's thighs rub together at the touch. "Laundry day," he repeats. His eyes darken. "Rey, what else aren't you wearing?"

"Kiss me again, and maybe you'll find out," Rey returns, pushing her shoulders against the wall to better jut her chest forward, into his hand. The soft palm is surrounded by callused ridges, probably formed from lifting weights at the gym. The contrast makes her skin sing.

Ben glances his lips across her cheek, then uses his free hand to reach above them, carefully removing the mistletoe’s string from the tack. He brings it down and finds one of her hands. "Why don't you show me where you'd like to be kissed?"

Rey's fingers squeeze so tightly around the mistletoe, she hears one of the thin branches snap. _What an invitation._ "Anywhere?"

The clarification flusters him. He runs a hand through his hair, giving Rey a glimpse of the red coloring the tips of his ears. It's reassuring to know she isn't alone in feeling nervous. But he nods, releasing his hair to caress her cheek. "Anywhere."

Rey raises the gathered sprigs and brushes them over her lips, starting off slow, familiar. Ben dips his head and obliges her, though he keeps the kiss quick and chaste. Perhaps he's ready to move on to more scandalous locations.

Well, Rey is the one with the mistletoe; she has the power here. With a devilish smirk, she moves the bundle north, planting it on her forehead. Ben laughs lightly, placing a peck on the spot. Next, she moves to her right ear. He takes his time here, scraping the shell with his teeth and sucking on the lobe until Rey has to plead with him to let go or risk collapsing.

She stretches the column of her throat, exposing it to his mouth. The mistletoe hardly touches her skin before his lips do. "Ben," she moans, free hand threading through his hair. It tickles against her shoulder, her collarbone -- a place Ben's lips travel to of their own accord. Rey hardly has the ability to think, much less plan out where she wants his mouth.

Seeking control, she spins abruptly, bracing one hand on the wall and laying the green bundle on her shoulder blade. She tries to steady her breathing, to convince herself that dropping her pants and letting him fuck her against the wall is not how she wants their first time to go.

That's incredibly difficult to do when his arms encircle her, hands cupping both breasts from behind. His thumbs and index fingers roll her nipples between them as he presses his body flush to hers. Complying with her request, his lips drag over her shoulder, but Rey barely feels them. All she can register is how hard he is against the curve of her ass.

" _Ben._ " It's a whine. A whimper. Some sound that communicates how desperate she is.

His hands slide down to squeeze her hips, pulling her back and rubbing himself against her. As if she didn't know. As if she couldn't feel his hard-on through his jeans.

Rey's knees give out. If not for his grip, she'd be on the floor. "Not here," she rasps, learning how to stand again. "Couch."

Rey doesn't compute how it happens -- maybe he lifts her, maybe they stumble into the living room together, maybe they are beamed to it by some alien teleport -- but she knows when they arrive at the couch, she's facing him again. She sits, the cool leather melding to her hot skin and making her gasp.

Ben nudges his iron and wood coffee table out of the way, then kneels in front of her. Rey's glad to be sitting, because the image of him bare from the waist up, hair mussed, and a thin sheen to his skin leaves her lightheaded.

"Rey?" he prompts, nodding at her hand.

Rey looks down, surprised to see the mistletoe. How has she not dropped it by now? Flexing her fingers, she realizes she must have had a death-grip on it judging by the way the branches bite into her flesh.

Too distracted by the man in front of her to care where she directs the bundle, she draws a trail across her belly and up the center of her chest, letting it rest in the well of her throat. She wants both hands available to touch him. And she does, stroking her palms over his shoulders, up and down his arms, scraping at his skin with blunt nails as he peppers hers with kisses.

He veers off path when he reaches her sternum, running his tongue to her left nipple and closing his soft lips over it. Rey jerks up from the cushion, pushing her breast into the warmth of his wet mouth. "Ben. . .fuck. Your mouth is--"

She cries out in lament and ecstasy when he switches to the other nipple, giving it equal attention. After twirling his tongue around it several times, he withdraws and rests his chin between her breasts, looking up at her from the arch of her rib cage.

"Where else, Rey?" he asks. His fingers flick back the waistline of her leggings intentionally. Her hips tilt up as if to say _take them._

But she's done with this game. As good -- no, as _divine_ \-- as his mouth would feel against her center, as much as his tongue would drive her over the edge, Rey wants something more. Her hand brushes a black swoop of hair away from his face. "Ben, I'm so wet right now. If your mouth gets anywhere near me, I'm done."

He smiles, fingers hooking into her leggings' waistline. "That's what I like to hear."

" _Ben,_ " she tugs on his hair to redirect his attention to her eyes. "I want to come with you inside of me."

His jaw goes slack. "Oh."

"Condom?" she asks. His eyes widen to the size of half-dollars. A note of panic comes through as she repeats, "Condom?"

"Rey. . ." he starts, pulling back and resting on his haunches, large hands covering the tops of her thighs. "I thought about it at the pharmacy."

"Ben--"

"I didn't think we'd get so far, so fast."

"Ben--"

"Do you have any?"

Rey desperately wishes she did. But when she'd moved from Chicago, condoms weren't the first thing on her packing list. And she hadn't had the need for them in Pittsburgh the last nine months.

She shakes her head, letting out a frustrated sigh as she sits up. Her hands curve behind his neck, playing with loose strands of his hair.

He swallows, thumbs tracing up her inner thighs. "I could still. . ."

"No." She stops him from advancing the thought and clenches her legs together before his touch can reach the place she so sorely wants it. One brush of his hand and her body would turn traitor, she’s certain.

Ben draws his hands away, tucking them beneath his legs. His head falls forward on her knees, hiding his face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t despair.” She smooths his hair, tugging slightly to get him to look at her instead of the floor. She gives him the best smile she can muster. "I meant what I said. I want to get off when you're inside me. We'll try again once we’re prepared."

She bends forward for one more kiss, lingering as long as she dares, then gets up to unload the last of her laundry.


	15. Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey manage to decorate a Christmas tree before getting lost in each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter. There was supposed to be one more chapter before the smut, but I couldn't torture these two (or you lot) any more. Shout out to my best beta: Phoenix. Enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Ben hands off his tailored woolen coat to Rey before taking up the bow saw and approaching the tree. After the last couple of weeks with Rey, he's beginning to think his fashion choices aren't the most functional.

“You look good in plaid,” she comments, smiling as he kneels at the base of her selected tree: a white pine just shy of six feet. “You should dress down more. Less model, more woodsman.”

He laughs, pushing aside the low-hanging branches and setting the saw’s teeth against the trunk. “The only time I dress down is when I work out. Anytime I’m in public, Snoke argues I’m representing First Order’s brand and need to look the part.”

Her boot grinds into snowy ground. “I don’t think your boss and I would get along very well.”

Ben huffs again -- in mirth and effort -- as he saws through the trunk with long, smooth strokes. “No, I don’t think you would.”

The pine tree trembles and tips, landing softly in the empty space on the other side of the aisle. Still crouching, Ben rests an arm on his knee and glances up at her. “So, you’re into lumberjacks?”

Rey rolls her eyes, stepping closer and touching the end of his nose with her mittened finger. “Did I say anything about lumberjacks?” She leans down and dusts a kiss across his cheek. “I’m into _you_ , Solo.”

She’s taken to calling him by his last name as a kind of endearment. It’s such a small thing, but it makes his heart inflate like a balloon each time he hears it. Her clarification almost makes it burst, it feels so full. _She wants you,_ a voice repeats in his mind over and over, thrilled at having it confirmed, relieved to know the passion they’d shared yesterday hadn’t been a fluke.

Ben stands suddenly, wrapping his arms around her thighs and lifting her along with himself. Rey lets out a shriek of surprise that cascades into a stream of giggles. Gripping her securely, he lowers her until he can kiss her full on the mouth, though it’s hard to manage -- neither of them can quit smiling.

 

* * *

 

 

Several hours later, with the star adorning the top of the tree, Rey claps her hands together in delight. "It's perfect!"

Her definition of the word is vastly different from his own. He's never seen a tree with so much. . .ornament vomit. Ben is used to trees that look like they've been put together by an interior designer -- because, usually, they are. His mother enjoys the holidays but often outsources the decorating, too busy with her political duties to fuss over unspooling strings of lights or unwrapping the delicate glass ornaments which Leia had inherited from her adoptive parents. There are color themes and actual sketches his mother approves before the holiday work commences.

Rey's tree, on the other hand, looks like someone loaded a cart with Dollar Store baubles and trappings, then dumped it on top of the poor pine needles. The tree is strangled in metallic tinsel and rainbow lights, weighed down with plastic disco ball-shaped ornaments, and drowned in strings of shiny floss the box claims are "icicles" though there's not the barest hint of similarity.

Ben wraps his arms around her, chin resting on the hump of her shoulder as he stares at the gaudy creation they've made together. “It sure is festive,” he allows.

He kisses her shoulder, regretting it instantly thanks to her sweater's scratchy wool beneath his mouth. What he wants is skin. Tilting his head to the right, Ben's lips land on the exposed juncture of her neck, teasing their way up to her pulse point. It races beneath his tongue. One hand moves to her chin, persuading her to bare more space for his mouth to explore.

Rey entertains the tender, affectionate kisses with a quiet hum, holding on to his forearm with both hands. Once Ben’s kisses edge toward passionate, however -- at the first hint of his teeth scraping along the tendon stretched taut for him -- Rey spins in his arms to face him. She noses at his jawline, nuzzling her head under his chin. Her hands smooth up his shirt, fingering the collar of his red flannel. Her index finger runs over his Adam’s apple, grazing it with the edge of her nail, before replacing the digit with her mouth and sucking ever-so-lightly.

Ben groans and swallows, feeling himself harden at the sensation her mouth creates. No one has ever paid attention to that particular spot before.

Rey laves her tongue along the column of his throat, then pulls back. “Ben. . .” she whispers. “Stay right here.”

Ben’s arms don’t let her escape as quickly as she intends. “Where are you going?”

He must sound desperate, pleading even, because Rey’s hands plaster themselves to his cheeks to force him to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry, Solo. I’ll be gone two minutes.” She kisses the tip of his nose quickly, then slips from his grasp and scampers off, disappearing into what must be her bedroom.

Two minutes sounds like an eternity. Ben stands for a moment, then decides to sit on the couch instead. He pulls at the crotch of his jeans, creating as much room as he can though he’s already half-hard as it is. Maybe he should take them off altogether, but he doesn’t want to get ahead of himself. Restraint is key. He focuses on the tree, eyes creasing at the corners with humor, until she returns with a small box in hand.

“In case we don’t make it back to the bedroom,” she says with a wink, setting the box of condoms on the thrifted coffee table.

Ben stares. Oh, so she’d actually procured some. She’d _planned_ for this. He can’t help the pleased grin straining the edges of his mouth. “So, this is happening.”

“It’s happening,” she concurs. “If. . .if you want it to.”

He thinks of standing and leading her to the bedroom right now. But, if he takes her back there, this will be over in a matter of minutes. He wants it to last, to explore her thoroughly. He’d gotten a taste of her yesterday; now he wants to feast.

Without hesitation, Rey lowers herself onto the couch, one knee sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips. She plants herself on his lap, shedding her scratchy sweater without any prompting. Unlike the previous day, she isn’t braless. Instead, she’s wearing a bit of lace-lined red mesh that passes as a bra in shape only. The mesh panels covering her small mounds don’t hide much. Deep pink buds stand at attention beneath the fabric, if it can be called fabric in the first place.

“Is this what was taking you so long back there?”

“I wanted to look pretty,” she responds shyly, tucking loose hair behind her ear.

Ben runs his hands up her back. “Sweetheart, you’re more than pretty. It wouldn’t matter what you wore.”

She pouts. “That isn’t the point. I got this because I thought you’d like it.”

His heart kicks inside his chest. She did this for him? She really _had_ given this a lot of thought; he almost feels guilty for not preparing as thoroughly. “I do like it,” he assures her, finger sliding between one strap and her skin. “And I'll show you how much I appreciate it.”

His mouth descends on her breast, not bothering to remove her bralette in any way. It's such thin material it hardly matters. Rey's nipple is hard against his tongue. He catches it, mesh and all, gently between his teeth, drawing a cry from her mouth. Her hands are buried in his hair, holding his head against her chest. Once he's soaked the fabric covering her right breast, he moves to the left.

Meanwhile, Rey's hips grind down with intent, dragging the hottest part of her over his length until his jeans squeeze uncomfortably. “Rey,” he breathes into lace, voice ragged at the edges with need.

 

* * *

 

 

Her body is on fire. The man beneath her already functions as a human furnace, but when Ben holds her to him, she becomes kindling, burning from the center, out. She slants over his concealed cock again, hoping to show him just how hot she is, how hot he’s made her.

“I made a judgement call and bought the biggest condoms I could find,” Rey tells him after a quick kiss. “Hope that’s okay?”

He blinks, searing her with eyes so dilated they look black. “A judgement call, huh? Based on what?”

Her hands run from his neck out to the curves of his shoulders as if she’s measuring him. “You’re kind of a giant, if you haven’t noticed,” she explains with a smirk.

“I’m a friendly giant.”

Rey rocks forward and moans. “A _very_ friendly giant,” she concurs, then adds, “They’ll work?”

She watches as his expression morphs from consideration to decision. Running one hand over her hair, he whispers, “Why don’t you find out?”

Shifting to rest on his knees, Rey opens his jeans’ button and zipper, sliding her hand inside the waistline of his boxers. As soon as she has her fingers wrapped around him, she can tell his clothes have to come off. They’re going to need more room.

Carefully, she stands, tugging both layers down his legs as she goes. Rey’s mouth drops open when she sees his cock laying against his stomach; the tip is just an inch or so shy of his belly button. She knew it was generously sized from the airport -- could have guessed it would be as massive as the rest of him -- but this is something else.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, eyes breaking away just long enough to meet his. “Are you for real?”

“Is it too much?” The way he asks makes it sound like he'll pack it back in his jeans if she has the faintest hint of hesitance.

_Screw that,_ she thinks. When hasn’t she been up for a challenge?

Still, she has to be realistic about this too, especially considering it’s been over a year with nothing except her silicone stand-ins.

Toying with her bottom lip, she shakes her head. “Ben,” she starts, clearing the raspy scratch in her throat with a cough. “I wanted to hop right on, but, fuck, I think I need to do some warm ups first,” she jokes while somehow being entirely serious. “Maybe some stretching.”

The way he licks his lips is downright lascivious, and Rey feels herself clench on nothing but an ache waiting to be filled. “Stretching, you say?” He scoots off of the couch until he’s on the faux-sheepskin rug at her feet, kneeling and reaching for her jeans. “I can help with that.”

Once the closures are undone, he curls his index fingers into the side belt loops and pulls her jeans down. The material bunches at the top of her thighs and it’s Rey’s turn to catch the disbelief in his eyes. Ben’s hands abandon her jeans, smoothing over the bare skin he’s revealed, circling around to cup her ass, one cheek in each hand.

“It’s not laundry day,” he observes, voice cracking.

Rey hums, pushing strands of hair behind his ears. “Do you know how expensive fancy knickers are?” she asks. “Why spend so much when they’re destined for the floor?”

He plants a kiss on her hip bone that makes Rey gasp. “Your rationale is sound.” He kisses the other side of her pelvis. “And sexy as hell.”

After the initial shock has passed, Ben’s hands slide her jeans the rest of the way off, mouthing at her inner thighs, brushing his nose into the creases. His breath is hot and so, so close to where she needs him to be that Rey has to fight the urge to shove her fingers in his hair and draw him in.

Using his middle finger, Ben strokes a line from her knee to her center, parting her folds with an appreciative sound. Rey can feel the rumble in his lips -- still busy teasing the outline of her sex. Her body sways forward into the subtle vibration.

“You're so wet,” he breathes. “I can't wait to taste you, sweetheart.”

Rey's fingers -- when had her hand moved to his head? -- press against his scalp. “Then why haven't you yet?”

He laughs, though it's no more than a hot burst of air against her slick center. The whimper of need she emits turns into a sharp cry as his mouth touches her. His tongue swipes over her, tentative at first but emboldened by her vocalizations. Like his sinful lips, his tongue is large and broad. When is slides up and circles around her clit, Rey struggles for balance, throwing her hands on his shoulders to brace herself.

“Fuck, Ben,” she groans.

He continues his onslaught, increasing the pressure of his attentions until Rey's legs shake and she has to tap out or risk a concussion from falling over. “Ben?”

He pulls away, mouth, nose, and chin glistening in the colorful lighting. “Everything okay?”

Rey doesn't want to retreat from his embrace, so she bends her knees until she feels the coffee table under her and relaxes on top of it. As she lowers herself, she places her hands on his cheeks and kisses him soundly, tasting a heady mix of him and herself.

“Fantastic,” she responds after breaking away, licking his swollen upper lip.

Ben chases after her mouth, but she moves too quickly and he nips at the edge of her chin instead. Not stopping there, he alternates using his teeth and tongue all the way down her throat, between the V of her bralette, and down the center of her stomach. Every gentle scrape causes new bumps to form on her skin, setting off nerve endings across her body and making her shiver.

As he moves south, Ben lowers her toward the coffee table. The hard surface isn't ideal, but with his mouth and hands roaming over every inch of her, the discomfort barely registers.

Rey feels incredible. _He_ makes her feel incredible.

This time -- because he's left her entire body sensitized to the slightest touch -- when his lips close over her clit, it's electrifying. Then he sucks, and _gods,_ it's bliss.

Her hips demand to push themselves into his face, and Rey gives them full reign -- unsure she's capable of controlling them even if she wants to.

Ben, however, is happy to take over. An impossibly large hand presses on her abdomen, restraining how high she can buck into his mouth. The other hand. . .

“Oh, fuck--” Rey pants, biting hard on her lower lip to keep from shouting.

_The neighbors will hear you,_ a voice says. It takes her a moment to remember the only neighbor she cares about is Ben Solo, whose mouth is too busy to issue a complaint, whose hand is too preoccupied to knock on her door in protest.

He thrusts his fingers -- yes, he jumped straight to two -- in and out of her, doing as he promised, widening and stretching her in the process.

He builds up a steady pace with his mouth and hand until she's ready to crash over the summit, then suddenly alters course. Rey whines and squirms in mild distress, needing to reach the crest; she's spent much of her alone time -- especially her mornings -- thinking about this. Why would he change tactics when she was so close? Maybe she needs to communicate more clearly.

“Don't stop. Please, Ben. I'm almost there. Please.” If she had any shame at all, she'd blush from begging him.

Then the pads of his fingers curl against that spot inside of her; the sensation is so different that everything stutters to a halt -- her hips, her heart, her breathing. It's a harsh reboot, but when she's revved again, she zooms up the hill of pleasure. Rey's muscles tighten around his fingers and her hands clamp into fistfuls of his hair. He lets her grind into his mouth more readily, lapping and sucking in equal measure.

It's too much. She comes with such strength Ben hisses against her center, pained from the tight hold she has on his hair. Still, he returns to her, slipping his hand away and kissing the perimeter of her sex while she comes down.

“Ben,” she whispers, nails lightly scratching his jaw until he looks at her, wondering if she's anywhere near as disheveled as he is. “Come up here.”

He doesn’t move immediately, teeth worrying the skin of her inner thigh. When he does, he balances by putting his warm hands on her hips and leaning across her body, dotting kisses here and there along the way.

Once he’s hovering over her, Rey slides her arms around his neck and pulls him down for another kiss, this one slow and soft. “Help me up,” she whispers against his lips while her legs wrap around his waist and lock at the ankles. “I feel like jelly.”

Maybe she should worry about hurting his back or causing undue strain. What’s she’s asking for isn’t the medically-approved method of lifting something. But Rey has seen him at the gym and at the tree farm. She knows what he can do.

Ben obliges her, making it seem effortless. One hand cups her ass, the other her spine while Rey’s explore the broad expanse of his back, running along the hard ridges of his shoulder blades. She kisses whatever is within reach, noticing after a moment that he’s gone completely still.

“Ben, what’s wrong?” He’s hardly spoken all this time. Rey lifts away from him to meet his eyes. . .except she finds them squinted shut. “Hey. . is everything okay?”

His head bobs, though his teeth grind together. Breathing deeply, he murmurs, “I’m just trying to not concentrate on how beautiful you are.”

Confounded for a moment, she relaxes when he finally peeps at her. She pokes playfully at his chest, trying to understand. “That’s an odd compliment, Solo.”

He sighs, darting his tongue over his lips. “Rey, it’s. . .been a long time.”

_Oh._ Now she sees, and she gives him a reassuring smile. “You sure don’t seem out of practice.”

His skin is already flushed, but the pink on his cheeks deepens to a scarlet hue. He kisses her forehead, then the arches over her brows. “It’s just. . .I wanted to warn you in case I--”

Her index finger silences him. “Ben, I want you to lose it when you’re inside me,” she reports. “More than once if that’s how it plays out. Now, can I please sit on your cock?”

As though the question itself renders him weightless, Ben practically falls onto the plush cushions behind him, taking Rey and all. She respositions herself to have her legs bent on either side of him like before, then reaches for the box of condoms. In a moment, she has him suited up and ready in her hand. Scooching herself forward, she aligns his cock’s blunt head with her entrance, then eases down until she has every inch of it inside her.

“Sweet mother of--” he curses while Rey moans loud and long.

Nothing has ever left her feeling this full, not even the dildo she rode to completion just the other day. Rey rests her hands on his shoulders and leverages against them to rock up, shifting until he almost slips free. Then she sinks down again, the motion smooth and measured.

“This is even better than I imagined,” Rey whispers, bending her head forward until her teeth catch his earlobe.

“What do you mean, ‘imagined’?” he asks as if hoping to distract himself.

Rey’s merciful side wavers, and she whispers her response in his ear knowing full well what that action does to him. “That day you heard my headboard. This,” she punctuates her meaning with another stroke, this one carrying more urgency behind it. “ _This_ is what I was imagining. Riding you, taking your big, thick cock inside me.”

“Rey--” he rasps in warning.

She follows his earlier lead and switches movements halfway through. Instead of plunging herself onto him, she keeps him sheathed inside, grinding her hips in a slow, wide circle followed by several smaller ones. Her hands card through his mussed, silky hair.

“Let go, Ben,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to hold on.”

“I want--” he pants, skipping over several words to get out the most important “--to last.”

Slowing to a stop, she coaxes his face up to hers, kissing him gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Ben turns into her hand, kissing her palm in return. He inhales deeply, finally reassured. “Okay,” he breathes, hands gripping her hips and directing them once more. “Fuck, Rey. It isn’t going to take much.”

Rey smiles wider. “Let me make you feel good.”

Rey’s not sure she’s ever heard a laugh that also sounded astounded, but Ben manages it, pressing his forehead into the juncture of her shoulder. “If you make me feel any better, I’m going to combust.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Rey hums. Increasing her speed, she follows his hands' silently charted pattern, rising and falling in short, powerful thrusts. Against her skin, his gritted teeth rest bare; he’s still trying to fight it.

She leans down next to his ear, growling out her desire. “Come for me. Please, Ben.”

 

* * *

 

 

It's the "please" in front of his name that breaks him. There is nothing in the world he would deny the woman in his arms, even if he suffers a blow to his pride for lasting so short a time. _I'll make it up to you,_ he vows as he topples over the edge, arms circling round her back and squeezing tightly when it happens.

His mouth -- buried in her shoulder -- opens on a cry that's muffled by her skin. Shuddering through his release, Ben holds on to her like he's never letting go.

And he's not, he decides. Never.


End file.
